


Taste like a Train Wreck

by Blink_Blue



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Amnesia, Angst, Drug Abuse, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, Love Triangles, M/M, Memory Loss, Physical Abuse, Rape/Non-con Elements, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-24
Updated: 2014-07-28
Packaged: 2018-02-06 00:40:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1838035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blink_Blue/pseuds/Blink_Blue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky and Steve suffer a falling out. When Bucky has an accident five years later, Steve finds out his old friend has done some bad things in his absence.</p><p>AU where Bucky works for HYDRA voluntarily, Brock Rumlow is the one he forgets, and Steve just tries to keep his best friend is out of harm's way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Taste like a Train Wreck](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2006445) by [Darchi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darchi/pseuds/Darchi)



> I love the Bucky/Rumlow pairing. I'm a sick puppy. It's been nearly three months since I've seen TWS and I still have too many Bucky feelings to contain. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are much appreciated!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky's life with Brock is almost perfect.

 

They hear his footsteps before they see him. Alexander Pierce walks into the room, an air of authority about him. His sharp eyes flicker over each of the men in uniform, as if he’s judging whether each man has what it takes to get the job done.

No one says a word. They know better than to speak before being spoken to.

Finally, Pierce gives a nod to Rumlow, team leader, and hands him a folder. Brock opens it to see a picture of a glass vial contained inside a metal storage container.

“It’s called the Zodiac,” Pierce says. “It’s dangerous and powerful, and I need you and your team to retrieve it for me. 

There’s a symbol painted on the vial, it kind of looks like a fancy ankh. The liquid inside is blue. Brock flips the photo over. There’s a bunch of papers containing scientific mumbo jumbo that he couldn't care less about. He closes the folder and looks back up at Pierce.

“Where is it?”

“It’s being transported to a SHIELD facility in approximately two hours time. If it gets there, it will be secured in a location that will make it very difficult for us to get to.” Pierce pauses to make his point clear. “I’m sure you won’t let that happen.”

Rumlow nods his understanding. It’s a simple hijack mission, nothing he and his team haven’t done a dozen times before. “Don’t worry, Mr. Pierce. We’ll get the cargo.”

Pierce gives him a smile. “Yes, you will.” Though he would loathe admitting it, a small shiver runs down Brock’s back. Words will never fully describe the fear that this sixty some year old man in a nice suit can impart in a person.

“You’ll get details from Anderson,” Pierce says before he turns and begins walking away. “Oh, I don’t mind casualties, but do try to clean up after yourselves.”

Brock forces a smile and fights the urge to roll his eyes. As if he had to say it. He turns to his team of eleven men, handpicked by himself over the years.

“You heard the man, get your gear, get ready. We’re moving out in twenty minutes.”

The others turn and follow his orders.

Brock quickly snaps his hand up to catch the wrist of the man next to him before he can leave with the others.

“Not you,” he says with a smile. “Not yet.” He leans forward and closes the gap between them, his eyes slipping shut. He can feel the other man’s lips turn upwards in a smile against his own. His hands are firmly grasping the other’s arms and they start wandering to other parts of his body, around his waist… up his back...

James Barnes pulls back from the kiss, smile still spread wide on his face. “Don’t get too handsy with me in front of the others,” he says, reprimanding his boyfriend. “We don’t want them thinking I’m your bitch.” He’s half joking because they both know that he has more than pulled his weight during missions, time and time again. Barnes has a sharp eye, and many times he’s saved other men on their team from bullets and worse.

“No one’s looking. And I can’t help that you’re my favorite,” Brock says with a shrug.

“There’s time for that later tonight, in private.” He flushes with desire thinking about the things he’ll do to the other man later that night, in their apartment, in their bed. He and Brock spend nearly every waking moment together. They work together on the same team during the day, and when they’re not at work they share an apartment on the nicer side of town. Two years they’ve lived together, four years since Barnes joined HYDRA. If the other men on the team are aware of their relationship, they’ve kept their mouths shut and their eyes turned the other way. Probably in fear of what Rumlow would do if they blabbed. 

Brock presses their lips together again and he gently runs his fingers through Barnes' long, dark hair. He loves the feeling of the soft locks running through his fingers. “Come on, let’s gear up.”

They meet the others where they’re gearing up and start stripping down, replacing their casual uniforms with tactical gear. Barnes is checking the ammo in his sidearm when Rumlow reaches over and tightens the strap on his tactical vest. He looks up at Brock who’s giving him a small smirk. They try not to show affection at work, but private glances and secret touches are a must. Barnes smiles at the sentiment, until he looks over and sees Rollins eyeing them. He refuses to show weakness and instead stares pointedly until Rollins turns away. He finishes checking his weapons and awaits orders to head out.

“Anderson, what have you got?” Rumlow asks the last man to join them. 

“Single vehicle, armored. Two men in front, at least two more in the back with the cargo, probably more. We know their route of travel. There’s a secure, secluded location planned for the ambush. If we head out now we’ll be there in under an hour.”  

Rumlow looks at the map the other man has placed in front of him. “Alright, we take four cars. Two of them drive out first, get to the location, get ready for the ambush. The other two cars find the payload. We know the route they’re taking. Find them, tail them. When they reach the location, we block them off from in front and from behind. Shoot on sight, to kill. This is a simple hijack and I don’t want any problems.” He looks around the room. “Any questions?”

There are none.

“Alright then, let’s head out.”

They make their way out to the cars, they’re all HYDRA modified, fast engines, able to outrun most vehicles they’ll encounter on the road.

They easily split into groups of three. Rumlow turns and sees Jones walking behind Barnes.

“Jones, why don’t you join Rollins’ team? I’m not convinced any of them know how to work a GPS.”

The other man nods and heads towards the other group. Rumlow’s excuse is bullshit of course, and everyone knows it. But no one’s going to question him when he he's their commanding officer.

“You get me alone so you can whisper sweet nothings in my ear the entire ride?” Barnes asks after they’ve gotten in their vehicle.

“Honestly, I was hoping for some road head,” Brock says with a complete deadpan expression.

Barnes burst out laughing at that. “Maybe after the mission.”

Brock starts the car and they head out. They’re mostly quiet during the ride, both focused on the mission. Though they both care about each other, they would never let their feelings compromise a mission. That was a promise they both swore to keep when this started.

Hail HYDRA.

“Target sighted,” comes Rollins voice over their earpieces.

Barnes strains his eyes and stretches to see over the cars in front of them. Sure enough, far in the distance, a large armored vehicle stands out like a sore thumb.

“Alright, keep your distance. We don’t want them to know we’re after them,” Rumlow says. He turns to Barnes. It’s easy sailing for the next forty miles. The other man is sitting back in his seat, hands in his lap, staring off into nothing. Anyone else would think he’s relaxed and unperturbed, but Brock knows him better than that. He sees the way his shoulders are slightly tensed, brow slightly furrowed. Something's bothering him.

“What’s wrong, sweetie?”

Barnes glances at him, the tense look gone from his face. “Nothing,” he says with a small smile. “Just thinking about the mission.”

“I know you better than that, James.” Rumlow says, glancing at the road every few seconds. And it’s true. He always knows when something is up with the other man. “What’s up?”

Barnes turns his gaze back to his front. He’s quiet for a moment, trying to think of a way to vocalize his thoughts. He’s been feeling anxious for a while now, anxious and tired and so sick of everything in his life except for Brock.  Brock is the one good thing he has going for him, and he doesn’t want to lose him.

“You ever think about leaving?” He finally says softly.

“Leaving what?”

“Leaving HYDRA. Leaving everything behind. Starting over, somewhere new?”

“James, what…” Brock just blinks, and tries to process, because he doesn’t know what to say. And that is a rare thing for him. “Where is this coming from? You... suddenly want to leave?”

“I don’t know. Maybe? I’m just saying maybe.”

Brock gives him a look with his eyebrows raised, waiting for an explanation.

Barnes sighs. “I just… lately, I feel like I just want to go somewhere, where nobody knows me, and start over. Working with HYDRA, it’s like I’m being suffocated, slowly.”

“HYDRA is doing good.” Rumlow says in a low voice. “HYDRA is good.”

“I know. I know you believe that. I know that. You’ve always believed in HYDRA, Brock. But I... just believe in you. I stayed because of you. I never really bought the message,” he says softly. “Sometimes I can make myself believe that we’re doing something right. Lately, those times are becoming more few and far between.”

There’s silence for a few moments as Rumlow takes in this information. There's an anger building in his chest that he doesn't like.

“Would you come with me?” Barnes asks softly when the other man doesn’t speak.

“I’ve given twelve years of my life to HYDRA. I’m not leaving. I believe in HYDRA. And I thought you did too.” HYDRA finds order in chaos. HYDRA is preparing for a new world order. He thought Barnes understood that.

“So, what are you just going to leave? Back out? Run away? HYDRA’s not just going to let you go.” Rumlow says angrily. There are so many reasons why they can’t leave he can’t even begin to voice them. And the thought of James leaving him causes an icy pain in his gut. “Is this because of him? Because of Rogers?” He says suddenly. And the thought just pisses him off even more.

“What? No! I—” Barnes sighs, sounding defeated. He frustratingly runs a hand through his dark hair, pulling it back and out of his face. This is not how he wanted this conversation to go. “This has nothing to do with Steve. Look, I don’t want to fight right now. Not when we’ve got a mission to complete in—” he glances at the GPS, “about thirteen minutes. I’m sorry I brought it up, okay?”

Rumlow nods after a moment. He’s keeping his eyes on the road, focused on their armored target in front of them.

“Brock?”

He glances over at James.

“I would never leave without you. I’m in it for you. Forever. I swear.”

And just like that, the anger’s gone. Brock takes one hand off the steering wheel and reaches out for James’ hand and squeezes it tight.

“I love you, baby,” he murmurs softly. 

“I love you, too,” James says with a smile.

They make a turn, following the armored car down a more secluded backwoods road. Their conversation is going to have to be put on hold for another time. They keep a good distance to the other car, to not look suspicious. Rollins’ car is about a hundred yards behind them.

Rumlow presses the button on his earpiece. “Almost show time boys.” Out the corner of his eye he sees Barnes take out his gun.

They can see the two vehicles barricading the road up ahead. The armored target slows down well before it reaches them, sensing a trap. It stops, and starts to reverse.

Rumlow quickly reaches over, grasping Barnes behind the neck and pulling him in for a hard kiss. “Love you,” he says when they part. Then he’s pressing his foot on the pedal. They speed towards the target. Next to them, Rollins’ car takes up the other lane. There’s nowhere for the target to go.

Of course a large armored car could easily run them over. But the two cars in front are speeding towards the truck as well. The sound of automatic gunfire rings out and the vehicle suddenly jerks off the road, slamming into a tree, the driver and passenger dead.

Rumlow and Rollins stop their cars. The men get out, guns drawn. There are twelve of them, taking cover behind their vehicles. Whoever is in that truck, they’re outnumbered.

The rear door of the truck bursts open and automatic fire from assault rifles rings through the air. Their men fire back. Barnes crawls his way to the far side of the car he’s shielded behind, waits for his shot, and takes it. Clean shot to the head, the man falls down. Another one drops to the ground next to him. There are two more as far as he can see.

Gunfire goes back and forth. A body hitting the ground a few feet away from him has Barnes turning his head. Jones is on his back coughing, trying to catch his breath, grabbing at his chest.

“You alright?”

The other man groans, “fuck, that hurts.” Their vests may stop bullets from killing them but it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

“Just be glad it wasn’t a head shot.”

Rumlow fires his weapon again, putting two bullets into the last man standing. The gunfire stops. No one moves for a moment, checking for signs of life from their targets.

Rumlow slowly lowers his weapon. “Check the bodies, grab the cargo,” he says, giving the signal.

The other men move forward as Barnes turns his head to look at the road behind them. The last thing they need is for an unwitting civilian to come upon the scene. The coast is clear and he turns back to the team. He sees one of the men climbing out the back of the truck holding the case they came for. Brock is doing surveillance around the area. Making sure there are no witnesses, no mistakes, no mess.

“Alright boys, let’s pack it up.” Another job done, quick and easy, just the way he likes it.

Barnes puts his gun back in his holster. His eyes flicker to Brock who’s walking back towards their car. He’s about to turn away himself when he sees movement coming from the front of the truck. Movement that shouldn’t be there.

One of the men, it must’ve been the one in the passenger seat. Barnes sees him limping out, blood from a bullet wound dripping down his side. Before he can draw his gun, the man underhand throws a grenade towards them. Barnes’ heart nearly catches in his throat when he sees it land near Brock, only a few feet behind his turned back.

Before he registers the fact that he’s actually running _towards_ the danger, it’s already happening.

“Get down!”

Brock’s looking at him in confusion.

In hindsight, tackling the other man to the ground would have been a better idea, but he’s afraid there’s not enough time. With both arms reached out, he pushes the other man away hard as he can. Then the explosive goes off and the shockwave blast throws him off his feet. The last thing he sees is Brock’s body hitting the ground.

 

*

 

There’s a ringing in his ear, no there’s a ringing in his head.

Brock slowly opens his eyes. The sky is spinning above him and he feels like someone took a sledgehammer to his head. He turns his head, trying to get his bearings. What the hell happened? He sees Barnes lying on the ground a dozen yards away from him.

He slowly pushes up to his elbows. There’s commotion going on around him. A few gunshots are fired but the shots sound muffled to him, like cotton has been stuffed in his ears. An explosion. There was an explosion. James pushed him out of the way.

“Fuck, James?” He says, stumbling to his feet. His head is aching and he can barely stand but he staggers over to the other man. “James?” He shouts louder. There’s no movement from the other man, and when Brock gets to him, fuck it’s bad.

James is lying on his back. He’s still. Blood coats the side of his face, matted in his dark hair, and it’s slowly pooling beneath his head. There’s blood coming out of his ears and when Brock shakes him gently a small bit trickles down from the side of his mouth. Head injury, internal bleeding, definitely.

“James,” he whispers, still in shock not only from seeing his lover injured but probably from his own injuries as well. They’ve been hurt on missions before but nothing like this. He turns and sees the others behind him.

“Is he dead?” He asks angrily.

One of his men nods.

“Are you positive? Because he was supposed to be dead before he ever left the front of the truck!” He’s screaming because he’s panicking. This has never happened before, not to James, never to James. He takes a deep breath. He has to calm himself. He’s still in charge of this mission.

“Go back to base,” he finally says. “All of you, report to Pierce with the cargo. Tell him what happened. Tell him Barnes is hurt, I’m taking him to the hospital. We're going to need help covering this up.” A part of him imagines the anger coming from Pierce before he realizes that he needs to focus on the present situation. His lover is hurt, bad.

The others nod, knowing better than to ask questions. 

“Not you, Rollins. You’re driving.” He throws his keys to the other man.

As careful as he can, trying not to jostle him, Rumlow picks up Barnes from the ground. He prays that there are no spinal injuries. “I’m sorry, baby. You’re going to be okay, I promise.” He gently lays Barnes down in the backseat and gets in after him.

“You are going to drive as fast as you can without getting us killed. Do you understand me?” Rumlow says in a dangerous voice. Rollins nods and starts the car. They take off with a screech of the tires.

“James, James you’re going to be okay. You’re going to be just fine. You’re going to be fine.” Brock whispers it like a mantra over and over again. He’s holding the other man’s hand and presses a kiss to the back of his hand. “You’re going to be fine.” Tears are starting to blur his vision and he knows that he’s only trying to convince himself because Barnes can’t hear him right now.

He takes off his tactical vest and his outer shirt, and presses the latter to the head wound that’s bleeding all over the backseat of the car. “Fuck,” he whispers at the amount of blood that’s immediately soaked into the shirt. He has to hold it together, for the both of them. He watches as more blood trickles out the corner of James' mouth, speckling on his lips. Genuine fear takes over him at the sight. “Oh god, please don’t leave me, please,” he whispers.

“Baby, I promise you, you make it through this and it’s done. We’ll leave, we’ll get out, both of us, okay?. We’ll go wherever you want. We’ll never do this again. I promise you. I promise. Please… please baby, please don’t leave me.” He presses a kiss to the other man’s cheek. Tears finally overflow and trail down his cheeks. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care if Rollins can hear every word he’s saying. He doesn’t care about anything except the man lying in front of him.

“Please don’t leave me, James.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve hears about Bucky after five long years.

 

Steve looks up from his desk when a cup of coffee is set down in front of him. 

“Late night?” Natasha asks with an eyebrow raised.

Steve scoffs. “I went to bed at ten thirty after watching Jeopardy by myself and eating three of those microwaveable meals for one.” He takes a sip from the cup and gives Natasha a nod of thanks.

“You look kind of out of it,” Natasha comments. “What’s bothering our good Captain?” She asks with a smile, using Steve’s nickname from the team. It had only been three years since Steve joined their STRIKE team after several unsuccessful attempts and he quickly made his way up the ranks.

Steve shrugs, not really in the talking mood. “Nothing.” He’s not about to bore her with his problems and he’s certainly not going to risk losing her respect by over sharing the details of his sad, lack of personal life.

Natasha squints her eyes at him. “You know what you need, Rogers?”

Steve stares at her already knowing what she’s going to say. Natasha on the other hand, has no problems butting into his sad, lack of personal life.

“You need to go on a date.”

“I knew you were going to say that. You always say that.”

“That’s because in the seven years that I’ve known you, you’ve been out maybe twice. It’s sad, Steve. And frankly, I’m getting a little worried about you.”

Steve shakes his head. “It’s fine, Natasha.” 

“Come on, Sam and I are going out tonight for some drinks, maybe some of the others as well. Maybe that nice girl Sharon who's been eyeing you for the past two months. Why don’t you come along?”

Steve just shakes his head again. “It’s really not for me. I’m more of a stay in and get to bed early kind of guy. You guys have fun. I’m going to stay home, enjoy my meal for one.”

“You are so fucking sad, I cannot even handle it. What is going on with you?”

Steve’s thinking of something to say when his phone goes off in his pocket. He pulls it out. It’s not a number he recognizes.

“Sorry, one second,” he says before picking up the call. “Steve Rogers.”

“Hello, Mr. Rogers,” says an unfamiliar female voice. “This is Margaret Myers calling from Frederick Memorial Hospital. I’m calling regarding a Mr. James Barnes who has been brought in to us. You’re listed as his emergency contact.”

Steve feels his heart drop into his stomach at the name. “Bucky? Something happened to Bucky? I—I mean James?” Steve’s mind races back to a face he hasn’t seen in years. He looks up at Natasha who’s giving him a concerned look.

 _What happened?_ She mouths at him silently.

“He was admitted to our emergency center with extensive injuries. I’m afraid I can't divulge them over the phone.”

“Where is he?” Panic grips his chest as he imagines Bucky hurt, injured, dying. Thinking about Bucky at all nowadays is painful.

“Frederick Memorial Hospital, sir. It’s on west 7th street off of route 15—”

Steve hangs up the phone. He needs to get there now.

“I’ve got to go,” he says to Natasha.

“Is it James?” she asks softly, her face betrays none of what she’s feeling. She also knew Bucky years ago, before their falling out. In fact, she was closer to Bucky than she was to Steve, given that they were on the same STRIKE team together.

Steve nods, flicking his eyes up to look at her. He’s scared. And he knows that she can see it in his eyes. She’s always been good at reading people. He hasn’t seen or spoken to Bucky in years. And given how they left things off he’s not sure Bucky wants to see him. But if Bucky’s hurt, or worse, then he needs to be there. He needs to be there for him.

“I’ve got to go,” he repeats, trying to compose himself. “Can you… can you cover for me, with Fury?”

Natasha nods, “Of course I can. I hope he’s okay, Steve,” she says sincerely.

Steve quietly leaves. In a panicked daze he walks out to his car. What’s it going to be like seeing Bucky after all these years? What is he going to say to him? Fuck, he hopes Bucky is okay. What could be bad enough that they couldn’t tell him over the phone?

Steve quickly reaches his car in the parking lot and drives, trying to force himself not to think of the worst. Instead his thoughts wander back to the last time he spoke to Bucky.

 

*

_Steve storms into their small, cramped apartment. “Why the fuck would you do this to me?”_

_Bucky looks up from his bowl of ramen noodles at him in confusion. “What are you talking about?”_

_“Drop the act, I know you never gave Ramirez my STRIKE team application.” He pauses when he sees Bucky’s eyes fall back down to his bowl. That’s admission of guilt in his book. “Why, Bucky? You know how important this was to me, I’ve been working my ass off for a year—”_

_“You wouldn’t have made it,” Bucky says quietly. “That’s why I did it.”_

_Steve stares at his best friend, hurt. “What is that supposed to mean?”_

_“You passed your written and oral exam with flying colors. But you were barely able to complete the training exercises. And even if they had accepted your application, the tactical operations test would have killed you. I was saving you the embarrassment.”_

_“What do you expect me to work behind a desk for the rest of my life? I don’t need you to tell me what I can and can not do,” Steve says angrily. He’s been training harder than he can remember. He’s not the same scrawny, sickly kid that Barnes met twelve years ago. Sure, he might not be as built as the other guys on the team, Bucky could definitely kick his ass without putting any real effort into it, but that doesn’t show a lack of trying._

_“Steve, you know I think the world of you, but the truth is—”_

_“No, fuck you!” Steve interrupts. “You don’t get to decide my goddamn life! I’ve been training for this operation for a year. I can do this. You made it into STRIKE, why can’t I?”_

_Bucky’s silent, not meeting Steve’s eye. And that just makes him angrier._

_“You think I’m not good enough?”_

_“I think you’re courageous, better than the whole lot of them. But you’re also stubborn, and reckless to a fault. Even if you did make it, chances are, you’d only get yourself or someone else killed.”_

_“Fuck you, Barnes,” he says with anger in his eyes that had never before been directed at his friend._

_“This isn’t one of the tactical training scenarios, people die out there. Being on a team means you have to looks out for others as well as yourself. You’re not ready. I’m saving your life, Steve,” Bucky says softly._

_“I don’t need you to look after me,” Steve says coldly._

_“I’ve been doing that your whole damn life.”_

_“Fuck you,” Steve spits before turning away._

_“Where are you going?” Bucky says, standing from his chair. Steve doesn’t answer him and just storms into his bedroom._

_“Steve?” He tries to follow the other man. “Look I’m sorry about the application. It wasn’t right that I did that behind your back, but that doesn’t mean I was wrong about it.”_

_“You had no right, Barnes.”_

_“What are you doing?” Bucky asks, watching the other man throw belongings into a backpack._

_“What’s it look like? I’m moving out.”_

_“Steve—”_

_“I can’t even look at you right now. In fact, I never want to see you again.”_

_“You’re really going to do this? You’re going to throw away twelve years of friendship because I was looking out for you?”_

_“You fucked me over, is what you did.” Steve says angrily, pulling the zipper closed on his bag. He pushes past Bucky to leave the room. “I’ll be back for the rest of my stuff tomorrow. Good luck finding a new roommate.”_

 

*

 

Steve rushes into the emergency room waiting area and nearly runs into the counter in his hurry, startling the woman behind it. “James Barnes! I’m looking for James Barnes. Please, how is he?”

“Um… okay, if you’ll just give me a moment,” she turns to the computer. 

“Barnes, B, A, R—”

“I can spell, sir,” she gives him a smile.

“Sorry,” he says awkwardly. “I just got a phone call. They wouldn’t tell me what happened. I’m… kind of imagining the worst.”

“James Barnes, you said?”

“Yes, James Barnes. I’m his emergency contact.” He tries not to think too hard about that fact that Bucky kept him as his emergency contact after five years. He cranes his head to try to see the monitor screen, as if it might have details on Bucky’s condition. “How is he? What happened to him?”

“Just give me a moment please and I will pull up his file.” Some tapping and clicking commences. “Are you friend or family, sir?”

“I’m… I’m his—”

“He doesn’t have family,” says a voice behind Steve. Steve whirls around to see a man, mid-thirties, dark hair, five o’clock shadow. What quickly caught his eye was the dark, dried blood stained all over the front of his white t-shirt. “And I’m not sure you’re a friend,” he says darkly. 

“And who the hell are you?”

“Brock Rumlow.”

“Mr. Rumlow brought Mr. Barnes in to us,” says the woman behind the counter.

Steve swallows thickly as he glances again at the blood dried on the other man’s shirt.

“It looks like Mr. Barnes is still in surgery. If you’ll please take a seat in our waiting area, a doctor will inform you as soon as there’s news. 

Steve nods and hesitantly follows Rumlow over to his seat in the waiting room. He looks around at the worried, concerned faces in the room. A mother with her three kids sit in the middle, an elderly couple sit quietly towards one side, another man is sitting with his head bowed, asleep. Several others scattered throughout the room. He imagines it must be exhausting to wait hours without a word about the health of your loved ones. He hopes Bucky is okay.

Steve slowly drops into the uncomfortable plastic chair across from Rumlow. The other man is staring at his shoes and his seat is surrounded by empty crumbled up paper coffee cups.

“What happened?”

“Gas explosion,” Rumlow says shortly. “Freak accident. Gas line ruptured in some restaurant. No one was inside, thankfully, the place wasn’t open. But he was closest to the blast.” By now, he knows some restaurant within ten miles of their location has been the victim of arson, courtesy of HYDRA. Official records will be altered so their story checks out. HYDRA always covers its tracks.

“How bad was he?” Steve asks softly, almost afraid of the answer.

“It was bad. No burns, but he was thrown back a couple feet.” Rumlow’s eyes glaze slightly as he remembers the sight that will haunt him forever. He swallows. “There was a lot of blood.”

“How long—”

“I’ve been here four hours.” 

They sit in silence for a while. Steve wearily rubs his eyes, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. It’s so much worse than he thought. Bucky could actually die. Fuck. He never actually believed—Bucky could die.

He sits up straight suddenly, drawing a deep breath, trying to calm himself. If he keeps thinking like this he’s going to have a panic attack. There’s nothing he can do now but wait. And that’s the worst part.

“How do you know Bucky?” Steve asks the other man.

“His name is James.”

Not once in all the years that Steve knew Bucky did he ever call him James. “How do you know James?”

“We work together. And I’m his roommate. Lived together for two years.”

“What do you do?”

“We work in construction.”

Steve blinks and feels a sudden surge of guilt. He still remembers how he went back to their apartment two days later and found that Bucky had moved out himself. The next day when he went in to work he learned that Bucky had quit his job. He really took the ‘never want to see you again’ to heart. Bucky left a good job at SHIELD to work in construction? That doesn’t make any sense.

He then realizes in his haste and panic, he never actually introduced himself. “I’m Steve, by the way. Steve Rogers.”

Rumlow ignores the hand held out in front of him and stays silent. Steve Rogers has always been an issue of concern in their relationship. He knows they used to be close, and he knows how much James cared about the other man. James repeatedly insisted that it’s a non-issue. HYDRA certainly found it an issue when they learned James was ex-SHIELD. He’s not about to go spilling their secrets to Steve Rogers. He’s pissed that he’s here at all.

Steve awkwardly drops his hand. “Did um, did Bucky—James, did he ever talk about me?”

“Haven’t seen him in five years and suddenly you think you’re worth something to him?” Rumlow says harshly.

Steve’s face drops.

“No, he never talked about you.”

Steve drops his gaze. Clearly the conversation is over. Bucky obviously spoke about him, if the other man’s attitude towards him is any indication. He understands why Bucky would have been mad at him. Maybe he still is mad at him. Would Bucky even want to see him? He imagines seeing the other man in a hospital bed. Would Bucky scream at him? Tell him to get out? Tell him he never wants to see him again? They had been best friends since grade school. He ended a decade long friendship over something that seems so petty and meaningless now looking back on it.

His phone beeps in his pocket. He takes it out to look at the screen. It’s a text from Natasha.

_How is he?_

He texts back: _He’s still in surgery. It sounds pretty bad._

There’s no reply from her.

Steve and Rumlow sit in silence for the next two hours.

 

*

 

Steve jumps to attention when he finally sees a doctor approaching them.

“I’m Dr. O’Neill. Are you two here for James Barnes?”

“Yes!” Both men exclaim simultaneously, jumping out of their seats.

“How is he?” Rumlow asks. Another minute without knowing and he probably would have burst out of his skin. 

“He’s stable. We just got out of surgery and he’s been moved to ICU.”

Rumlow lets out a breath he didn’t even know he had been holding. He’s stable, meaning he’s alive.

“He suffered a great detail of trauma. His spleen was ruptured from the force of the blast. He had severe internal bleeding, two collapsed lungs, gastrointestinal perforation, and several broken ribs.”

“Oh my god,” Steve whispers, closing his eyes. He tries to imagine Bucky lying in a hospital bed, injured, wrapped in bandages, and connected to tubes and machines keeping him alive. He can’t do it, because it was always him weak and hurt when they were growing up. He was always getting sick when they were younger. Pneumonia was no stranger to him, and he had even suffered a collapsed lung of his own one time when it was really bad. He couldn’t remember Bucky getting sick once since he’d known him.

“There was also severe traumatic brain injury,” the doctor continues. “He hit his head, when he landed. There was major swelling of the orbitofrontal cortex and the anterior temporal lobes. He had bruising of the brain tissue and a small intracranial hemorrhage. We were able to stop the bleeding and he is currently stable. 

The doctor pauses for a moment. This is usually the moment when loved ones collapse from the stress of the situation.

“Is… is he going to be okay?” Rumlow asks.

“We’re keeping him in an induced coma for now. His body has been through a great deal of trauma.”

“For how long?” Rumlow feels likes there’s something gnawing on his stomach. It’s probably the guilt, because it should be him lying in the hospital bed, not James.

“Until we see improvement, until the swelling in his brain goes down. It could be a few days, it could be weeks. We’ll see how he does.”

“Can we see him?” Steve asks.

The doctor nods. “One of the nurses will take you to him.”

They thank him before he walks away. Well, Steve thanks him. Rumlow barely manages a nod in his direction. He feels like he’s about to collapse. He’s supposed to be home, with James, in _their_ home, in their bed. Not in a hospital, with James fighting for his life. And all this because the stubborn idiot was always looking out for him.  

“Come on,” Steve says to him softly. A nurse is waving them over. They follow her to the elevator, and through the halls to the intensive care unit.

Whatever they were expecting to see, nothing could have prepared them for the sight of James Barnes lying still and pale, hooked up to a ventilator, and looking like death warmed over.

“Fuck,” Steve whispers.

Rumlow shuts his eyes tight. He rubs at his face with his hand, feeling like he’s about to break down. But he won’t cry in front of Steve Rogers. He won’t. He looks up again. That’s his baby lying on that hospital bed. He can imagine bandages, surgical wounds, and stitches underneath the hospital gown, a reminder that they had to cut him open to fix the damage done by the blast. The tactical vest probably saved his life.

“He’s going to be pissed they cut off his hair,” he murmurs softly, eyes gazing at the freshly shaved head underneath the large, white bandages. Rumlow still thinks he looks beautiful.

“Are you guys close?” Steve asks.

“Yeah. We’re close.” He’s not about to tell him how close.

“I haven’t seen him in five years,” Steve says softly.

“I know that.”

“I never thought this was how… I just never thought.” He felt so much regret over the past couple of years. Regret over how he treated his friend, the loss of one of the closest people in his life, and how he never had the courage to make up for his mistake. “It was my fault, you know… the reason why we stopped talking. He was just, being Bucky, looking out for me, protecting me. I was pissed at him for it. Stubborn.”

Rumlow stays silent. Rogers is in a talking mood. He may as well listen if he’s not going to share, get some insight into Barnes' and Rogers' past relationship that Barnes' never felt like sharing with him.

“He saved my life. I don’t think he ever even knew. The team I would have joined, had I made it in, they were all killed in the field a year later. Some bad intel.”

Steve turns to the other man. “Did he ever tell you why—”

“Yeah, he told me.”

“Bucky saved my life. I tried calling him… after. He never picked up. And I never got the courage again. I never got the chance to fix things, to apologize. And then more and more time went by, and it got harder and harder to pick up the phone.” He swallows hard and fights back the tears that are threatening to spill over. “He was my best friend. And if he’s not okay… I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“He’ll be okay,” Brock says after a long moment of silence. “He will. He’ll be okay. He’s strong. The strongest man I know. This won’t beat him.”

 

***

 

A week later, the doctors release Barnes from his induced coma. They say that the swelling in his brain has gone down, and his vitals look good. They move him out of ICU and into a private room. He’ll wake up any day now, they say.

“Please wake up, baby.” Rumlow murmurs as he squeezes the unconscious man’s hand. He’s been to see him everyday since he had been moved out of ICU. He’ll spend hours talking to him. The nurses say it’s good for brain activity of unconscious patients, and that it may help bring him out of his coma sooner. “I can’t stand another day without you. I love you so damn much.” He gently brings his lover’s hand to his lips.

“Hey.”

Rumlow looks up at the voice. He gently sets Barnes’ hand down. He forces a smile and tries his best not to make it look like a scowl.

“Any change?” Steve asks, setting down a vase of flowers on the windowsill, next to all the other ones he had brought. Rumlow was starting to get sick of the smell of fresh flowers. 

Rumlow shakes his head. “No. No change.”

The nurses tell him Steve visits everyday as well. Some days, like today, they’ll bump into each other.

“The doctors say any day now.”

“It’s been a fucking week since they brought him out of it,” Rumlow says frustrated. “Why the hell hasn’t he woken up?” He closes his eyes and rubs his temple with his thumb. He had hardly slept in the past two weeks. His bed doesn’t feel right without the other man in it. And he had gotten reamed out at work for not being focused. If this continues any longer, HYDRA may think it’s easier to just off the both of them. No loose ends.

“He moved!" Steve says suddenly. "Oh my god, he moved!”

Rumlow snaps up. “What?”

“His hand! His hand just moved!”

Rumlow quickly grabs his hand. “James? James, can you hear me?”

Sure enough, he feels the hand twitch in his own, fingers curling and applying pressure on their own. Rumlow feels a smile spread on his face for the first time in weeks. “James, oh my god,” he whispers.

“I’m going to get a nurse,” Steve says as he runs out of the room.

Rumlow carefully watches the other man for signs of movement. James’ face is still, but a moment later his eyelids start twitching.

“Baby?” Brock whispers. He gives his hand a soft squeeze, smiling when he feels the other squeeze back. Finally, James’ eyes flutter open. Brock feels relief wash over him when he finally sees those beautiful blue eyes.

“Oh thank god,” he says, standing up from his chair and leaning over so James can see him properly. “Thank god you’re awake. I was so fucking worried about you.”

There’s no recognition in his eyes. Brock was afraid of this. The doctors said he might be groggy and confused when he first woke up. They still weren’t sure the full extent of the damage.

“James? It’s me, it’s Brock.” He’s still gripping his hand, and he gives it another squeeze. “Can you hear me?”

James blinks slowly, tiredly. There’s still no recognition from him. Brock’s heart drops slightly.

Then Steve’s running back into the room, a nurse and a doctor in tow.

“Bucky?”

James turns his head slowly towards him. He blinks at the new figure. “S...Steve,” his voice is hoarse from disuse but he still breaks out a small smile for him.

“Hey, Buck.” Steve’s smiling back at him, and the two of them look so damn happy to see each other Brock feels like he’s going to be physically sick. 

“I’m afraid I have to ask you two to leave so we can examine the patient,” the doctor says.

Steve nods, but Brock has a horrible feeling creeping into him. The last two weeks have taken their toll on him. He's not leaving without some acknowledgment. 

“James. James, look at me. What’s wrong?” He demands. And Bucky finally turns to look at him. He’s silent and he looks confused and that terrifies Brock more than anything.

“Sir, I need you to leave the room please,” the doctor says to him. 

Brock ignores him. “Answer me, James. What’s wrong?” 

James finally answers him, and when he does, Brock suddenly wishes he didn’t.

“I—I don’t know you.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky comes home from the hospital and things get complicated.

Patience was never one of his strong suits. Rumlow glances at his watch. He only vaguely pays attention to what Pierce is saying. Something about another mission or a highly intricate plan to hack into some database or attempt to infiltrate some higher up organization. Whatever. His focus isn’t here today. He’s only put the bare minimum effort into his work with HYDRA ever since the mission that went awry. Although he is aware enough to know that Pierce is getting close to fed up with him. But right now, he just can’t bring himself to care.

He visits James everyday at the hospital since the man woke up. James doesn’t remember him. In his mind he’s lost the past six years, give or take. But the doctors are confident that the memories may return, some if not all. He was a bit wary of him at first. Some man he’s never seen before tells him that they’re good friends, close friends, anyone would be skeptical. But slowly he’s relaxed around him, and even looks happy to see him when he walks into his hospital room. Well, he’s happy to get any visitors. There’s not much to do all day lying in a hospital bed besides watch bad daytime television.

“Rumlow!”

His head snaps up at the sound of his name.

Pierce gives him a hard stare. “I asked if you wouldn’t mind sticking around for a few minutes.”

He quickly glances around the room, realizing that most of the others were already out of their seats and headed towards the door.

“Of course, sir.”

He sees Rollins give him a smirk right before he exits the room. The little shit.

Even before the other man starts speaking he knows this conversation will be about James, and it will be unpleasant.

“How’s he doing?” Pierce asks, like he’s talking about the weather.

“He’s getting better,” Rumlow says, meeting Pierce’s gaze head on. “Stronger every day. The nurses had him walking around a little bit. He’ll be discharged in a couple of days.”

“Good, that’s good. And how is his mind? I hear that the doctors are confident his memories will return.”

Rumlow nods. He prays everyday that James will wake up suddenly with all his memories intact, and will smile and kiss him like the nightmare of the past month never happened.

“What does he remember?”

Rumlow tenses. This was a very difficult conversation he had with Steve and James’ doctor. “He woke up thinking it was 2008. He’s 24 years old. Living with Steve Rogers. Dating a nice girl named Emily. Working for SHIELD as a member of STRIKE team beta.”

Pierce nods. It was nothing he didn’t already know. But he wants to hear it from Rumlow himself. He slowly sits down in the chair adjacent to the other man.

“You realize what a problem this makes for us, don’t you?”

Rumlow fights the urge to grimace. “If he remembers, then he comes back to us. If he doesn’t… then you have nothing to worry about.”

“False," Pierce says steely. "Those memories are buried somewhere in that pretty little head of his. Bases of operation, persons of interest, HYDRA secrets. He keeps hanging around that Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanov. How long before they welcome him back inside SHEILD’s circle? What happens if he remembers, one, ten, fifteen years from now? You think he’ll still be loyal?”

“His loyalty to us was never a question,” Rumlow insists.

“Well, it certainly is now.”

Rumlow looks down at his lap. His hands clench into fists and he forces himself to relax them, instead fiddling with the edge of his rumpled shirt. He’s let Pierce down. He’s let James down. There’s no easy fix to the situation and it seems at every turn things just keep getting worse. 

“That Steve Rogers, he’s influencing him,” Pierce continues at the other man’s silence. “Now that they’re best buddies again, what happens when he remembers who he really is? You think he’s going to stay loyal to you? To us? We need to take him out before that happens.”

Rumlow blanks in shock for a moment. Kill James? “No. No, absolutely not!” The words are out of his mouth before he even realizes that he may be defying an order. HYDRA would have no issue killing him as well.

Pierce gives him his best sympathetic look. It almost masks the sneer behind it. “I understand you and Barnes were close. Your… extracurricular activities will get no judgment from me. But as he is now, he’s a liability. HYDRA doesn’t deal with liabilities. We get rid of them.”

Rumlow shakes his head. “No. He could remember any day now. You have to give me some time. He’s an asset to our cause and you know it.”

“He’s a good soldier,” Pierce nods in agreement. “But a foot soldier nonetheless. Replaceable.”

“He’s… he’s still of use to us…” Rumlow racks his brain trying to think of a good excuse, a reason to need Barnes alive. “An inside man… he could be our way of infiltrating SHIELD.”

Pierce raises his head slightly, interested.

“Rogers will ask him to rejoin SHIELD. He trusts James, and if James trusts me… I could ask if there’s a position available for myself. This could be our way of getting on the inside.”

Rumlow watches as Pierce slowly nods. He's contemplating. He likes it. It’s good.

“And if Barnes does start to remember, anything about us, about HYDRA, I’ll be right there, by his side, every single moment, watching him like a hawk. I’ll make sure he’s loyal.”

“I like the way you think, Rumlow. Get him to trust you. Get them all to trust you. And you could be on your way to the top yourself.”

“Thank you, sir,” he whispers. Relief floods through him that Barnes would not be killed, not yet anyway. He’ll do everything in his power to make sure that doesn’t happen.

 

***

 

Steve peaks into Bucky’s room. The bed is empty, the sheets are pulled back and rumpled, reminding him of Bucky’s bed when they still lived together. A flash of concern runs through him before he reminds himself that he’s in a hospital, probably the safest place for something to go wrong.

A friendly nurse walks by him and gives him a smile. “He’s just taking a walk around the floor with a nurse. Take a seat, he’ll be back soon.”

He thanks her and looks around the floor. There’s no sign of Bucky. He sighs and drops into a waiting chair in the hallway.

It’s still weird talking to Bucky again. He was pretty doped up on morphine the first couple of days he was awake. But then slowly his old, carefree personality came back, and he’s making jokes and making fun of Steve like nothing ever changed between them.

For him, nothing did change.

He thinks back to his earlier conversation with Natasha.

“He still thinks it’s six years ago and nothing’s wrong. Like I didn’t spend the past five years ignoring his existence.”

“He’s lost six years of his life, Steve. Just because you tell him something happened, if he doesn’t remember it, to him… it never happened.”

It’s like he’s been given a second chance, a chance to not make the same stupid mistake he did before. The guilt still gnaws at him, knowing that if Bucky weren’t in a life threatening accident they probably would have never spoken again.

He glances down the hallway just in time to see Bucky turning around the corner. He’s walking slowly with a stroller, nurse by his side. He’s been recovering faster than anybody would have thought. A week and a half after he’s woken up and the bandages are off, stitches are healing well, no infection in sight. He was ecstatic when he was given the okay to eat solid foods again.

“Bring me the greasiest burger you can find, Steve.”

He stands as Bucky gets closer. The other man is still moving at a snail’s pace. But he can’t help the smile spreading on his face as he watches him on his feet. He still hasn’t gotten over the scare of almost losing him.

“Hey punk,” Bucky greets him with a smile.

“Hey Buck.” Steve slowly follows them into the room and watches as the nurse helps his friend back into bed. There’s sweat on his brow and he honestly looks exhausted from just a walk around the floor of the hospital. His recovery may have been faster than expectations but he’s still a long way from 100%.

“You bring me lunch?”

Steve laughs as he plops into the chair next to the bed. “I don’t think your doctors want you eating greasy fast food every day.”

“It’s no worse than the shitty hospital food they give me here.”

“So your uh…” Steve gestures towards his stomach region, and Bucky glances down with an eyebrow raised. “Everything’s fine?”

Bucky shrugs, “hard alcohol’s probably a bad idea, those corn dogs we like to get at Coney Island are probably a worse idea. Other than that, everything’s working fine. I finally got my poop bag taken out.” He laughs at the scandalized look on Steve’s face. “And there’s no longer a tube running up my penis.”

“Aw, come on Bucky, I don’t want to hear about that.”

Bucky laughs again, and then he winces because his abdomen still has an unhealed surgical wound bisecting him.

“I’m glad your okay, Buck,” Steve says, in all seriousness.

“Thanks, Steve.”

They’re quiet for a moment as Bucky recovers from the most physical activity he’s had all day.

“You still upset about Emily?”

Bucky raises his head to look at him.

“I can probably get in touch with her, find her number somewhere—”

“Dude, let it go, it’s been six years, apparently. We broke up, I guess. I wasn’t that into her anyway.”

“Bucky…”

“I barely remember her, to be honest. It’s kind of fuzzy.”

Steve nods, accepting his answer. He kind of feels bad. Bucky hasn’t gotten many visitors. He has no family to speak of. A couple of times Steve brought Natasha with him when he visited. Bucky remembers her, thank god. And he immediately threw himself into flirtatious mode when he saw her. Despite his shaved head, sunken in cheeks, and pale flesh that’s only just now getting its color back, he still has that boyish charm that brought a smile to her face.

 “I still can’t get over how big you are,” Bucky says suddenly.

Steve gives a small smile and drops his gaze slightly. He doesn’t know why he’s shy about it. But this is yet another thing that’s changed since the last time he saw Bucky.

“You were right, you know. When you said I wasn’t ready for STRIKE.”

Bucky watches him quietly, because he doesn’t know. He hangs on to every detail about the past six years that he can’t remember.

“I wasn’t ready physically, or mentally. I had no reason to get mad at you like I did.” He stops himself from saying ‘I’m sorry’ again because it seems like he says it every time he sees him. Bucky doesn’t remember the event he’s apologizing for. “Anyway, I really bulked up after that. I found a new gym buddy. His name is Sam. You’ll meet him. You’ll like him a lot. He’s a great guy.”

Bucky give him a small wretched smile. “I’ve probably lost twenty pounds since I’ve been in here.”

“No, not that much. Ten maybe, if that.” And they’re doing this friendly bantering that they used to do so many years ago, and it feels good. Bucky does look like he’s lost a lot of weight. But lying in a hospital bed for damn near a month will do that to a person.

“You’ll bounce right back as soon as you’re out of here.”

Bucky’s smile slowly fades and they’re both silent for a moment. It suddenly feels serious in the room. “You know I wake up one day, and I’m thirty years old, lying in the hospital with my insides scrambled and my mind in pieces.”

“You’ll get better, Buck. I’ll be there with you, every step of the way, I swear.”

“I don’t even know what better is. What was I doing for the past five years I wasn’t with you? With SHIELD?”

“I don’t know, Buck. I’m sorry…”

They fall silent again, and Steve reaches his hand out to grasp for Bucky’s. He squeezes it tight to let him know that he’s there for him, from here out, forever.

“I’m with you till the end of the line. I swear it.”

Bucky squeezes his hand back. “Thanks.”

“Brock’s taking me home tomorrow,” he says, trying to change the subject to something a little less depressing. His discharge is certainly something he’s looking forward to.

“How’s it going with him?” Steve asks curiously. The other man visits Bucky as much as he does. “Do you remember anything yet?”

Bucky shakes his head. “He seems… really familiar to me, in a good way. Which is nice. But I still don’t remember him.”

“Do you want me to be there? Help you get settled back in to your place?”

Bucky gives him a wry look. “I’m not a child, Steve. I don’t need your help re-acclimating to my own home.” He pauses and adds. “Even if I don’t remember it.”

Steve lets out a short laugh, even though there’s nothing funny about it. “I can’t believe you don’t remember your own home.”

“I’m just glad I don’t still live in that tiny dump of an apartment with you.”

Steve’s smile drops as he remembers their old place. It was a small one bedroom, barely enough for one person let alone two of them. But it was all they could afford when they graduated high school and when the paychecks did start coming in, from SHIELD, they had both gotten so comfortable with each other that it just seemed like a hassle to move to a bigger place. Steve had moved out himself a couple weeks after it had been clear that Bucky wasn’t coming back.

“Sorry, I forgot.” Bucky says when he sees the look on Steve’s face. He smiles at his own joke. “Five years, huh? You and I, not being friends, it sounds crazy.”

“It was my fault, Buck. And I’m so sorry.”

Bucky just shrugs. “I don’t remember it.”

“If it wasn’t for your accident, you and I, we may never have spoken again. And that’s my fault.”

Bucky shakes his head. “We’re both stubborn, Steve. I’m sure I had something to do with it too. You can’t take all the blame, as much as I know you’d like to,” he says with a wry smile.

 

***

 

Rumlow carefully watches the other man. He’s sitting on the edge of the hospital bed, legs dangling over the side, staring at his feet.

“The nurse says you’re good to go,” he says softly.

James looks up at him. He’s nervous, unsure, and about to go home to a life he doesn’t remember, with a man he barely knows.

Rumlow holds out a backpack. “I brought you some of your clothes.

He takes the pack from him. “Thank you,” he says and opens it and pulls out a t-shirt and basketball shorts. He stares at them in his hands for a moment. “Will you help me?”

“Of course I will,” Rumlow steps forward and takes the shorts from his hands. He glances at the other man who is still not making eye contact. He bends over so James can slowly step into the shorts, one foot at a time.

“Bending over still hurts,” he murmurs, as he carefully gets off the bed, bare feet hitting the floor.

Rumlow slides the shorts up until they disappear underneath the hospital gown. He slowly reaches behind the other man to undo the string that binds it together. The gown gently slides off his shoulders and Brock places it on the bed. His eyes gaze down at the surgical scar that’s slowly healed over the past month, and then back up to meet his eyes. He slowly inhales a breath. It’s been weeks since they were this close.

But it’s kind of awkward with the other man so he steps back and reaches for the t-shirt. James raises his arms and slowly, together they get the garment over this head. It used to fit him well, now it hangs loose and baggy.

“Thanks,” he murmurs.

“No problem.”

A nurse had brought a wheel chair into the room in preparation for his departure. Rumlow brings it over and James slowly sits in it. He glances one last time around the room and looks at all the flowers Steve brought for him. A smile graces his face when he thinks about Steve and how he insisted on bringing him small gifts every time he visited.

“Okay, I’m ready.”

James is quiet during the drive to their apartment. As he looks out the window, he’s slowly counting the differences between what he sees and what he remembers. That shop wasn’t there, this restaurant is gone, and gas prices were not this high six years ago. Some of the streets he doesn’t even recognize. He said no to Steve’s offer to be there when he left the hospital but suddenly he wishes he weren’t alone.

Brock is quiet too. Every time he looks over at James he’s reminded of the last time they were in a car together, him in the driver seat, James next to him. It hurts just thinking about how much James said he loved him, and now he can’t even remember being with him. He doesn't remember their life together. How is James going to react to that when he gets to their place that they share? Is he going to be receptive or will he freak out and demand that Steve come take him away. He was half certain that Steve would be here for this and he’s thanking whatever god he doesn’t believe in that the other man isn’t here right now.

They’re there now and James is looking around the apartment complex, trying to pull something out of the mess in his head that tells him he knows this place.

They sit in silence for a moment before Brock exits the car and James slowly follows him.

“Does anything look familiar?”

James shakes his head wordlessly and follows Rumlow to their apartment.

“Here we are, apartment 214.”

They go in and Brock carefully watches the other man. It’s a pretty standard apartment in the city. Not overly spacious, but enough for the two of them.

James looks around at the kitchen, there’s no dining area and the sink is full of dirty dishes. The living room has an L-shaped sofa, coffee table, entertainment unit, and a large bookshelf. It’s nicer than what he had with Steve.

“Do you remember anything?” Brock asks, hopeful. The doctors he spoke to said familiar places and situations could help bring hidden memories to the surface. He's already got plans to take him to his favorite spot in the park and cook him all his favorite meals.

James’ eyes roam around slowly. He fixates on the sofa. The worn, beige suede fabric looks soft, comfortable, and intimate. He imagines he spent a lot of time on the sofa, watching television maybe? Or maybe this is where he ate his meals since they don’t have a dining table. Maybe he fell asleep here a couple of times during a lazy afternoon? He runs his hand over the soft material and a small smile comes over his face at the familiarity of the feeling.

“It’s familiar,” he says softly. He turns and slowly steps towards the kitchen area. There’s a box of cereal sitting out on the counter with the bag visibly open. It’s probably stale by now, James thinks.

“Sorry about the mess,” Brock says. “I haven’t spent a lot of time here… since the accident.”

James nods, and then, “hey, that’s my blender!” He steps closer to the appliance. A goofy smile spreads on his face when he sees the crack on the handle where he dropped it that one time. It’s the first real sign that he did live here, and this is his home.

“You love your smoothies,” Brock says with a smile. He slowly steps closer. “Most of the stuff here is mine. You moved in with me. You didn’t bring much.”

James keeps looking around, trying to look for something else with recognition.

“Are you hungry?” Brock asks. He suddenly realizes they don’t have much food in the house. He’s wishing he had gone to the store, or at least done the dishes before bringing James back here.

“I don’t have much here…” He opens the fridge and out the corner of his eye sees James peak around him to look inside.

“Can I have some juice?”

“Yeah, of course!” Brock pulls out the half empty carton of orange juice from the fridge and reaches for a glass in their cabinet.

James’ eyes land on a mug sitting on the first shelf of the cabinet. It’s an “I ‘heart’ Paris” mug. The giant red heart had caught his eye. He’s seen this before, but it’s not something he remembers from living with Steve. He's never been to Paris. He reaches out for it, eyes staring at the giant all caps letters.  

“Is this mine?” he asks, looking up at the other man. Brock’s watching him with careful, hopeful eyes. “It’s… I recognize it. Did we… go to Paris together? For work maybe?” The briefest flash of the Eiffel Tower pops into his mind.

Brock smiles, a genuine one, because for the first time it feels like he’s getting his lover back. “Yeah, we did. You’re remembering. You are.”

James smiles back. He gratefully accepts the glass of juice and downs most of it immediately.

“Do you want to sit down?” Brock asks, suddenly worried about the other man being on his feet for so long. Those stairs weren’t easy on him either.

James shakes his head. “I want to see the rest of the place.”

They leave the kitchen together. Brock points out the bathroom and the linen closet that’s full of nothing but towels. Finally, they’re at the bedroom. James looks around the hallway for a moment before slowly stepping into the room.

There’s a large queen sized bed, a messy desk with papers strewn about, a dresser with drawers haphazardly open, a nightstand, and a closet with clothes lying messily on the floor, like they were thrown there carelessly.

He looks around silently. In one of the open drawers he sees the sleeve of one of his favorite button downs sticking out. He recognizes the small lamp sitting on the desk. Slowly a realization dawns on him.

“Why is there only one bedroom?” He asks softly.

Brock opens his mouth, and then closes it again when he doesn’t know what to say. Is this the point where he's supposed to say he loves him so much it feels like something in him is missing when they're not together? Is he supposed to tell him that they're in love? Or they were in love? And he was willing to drop everything that mattered in his life to run away with James to a place where no one knew them, to start a new life together. His painful silence is enough to tell James what he needs to know. He slowly steps towards the bed and sits down, suddenly feeling all the weariness at once. He feels drained.

Brock reaches out to help him but quickly drops his hands when James doesn’t look at him. His arm is wrapped around his midsection, which is clenching painfully. He doesn’t know whether it’s from his healing injuries or the butterflies fluttering in his stomach.

“Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

“You didn’t even know who I am. I was afraid it’d scare you off.”

James slowly looks up at him. “You’re my boyfriend?” He whispers.

Brock slowly nods and sits down beside him on the bed. He makes sure to leave a decent amount of space between them.

James slowly digests the information. He had never thought of himself as completely straight. There had been a few guys before, nothing serious, but the sex was always good. Being in a relationship with a guy wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. It was just never something he expected from himself. Not at that point in his life anyway.

“How long?”

“Four years.”

All the air exits his lungs harshly. “I don't remember. I’m sorry I don’t remember,” he says softly, suddenly realizing that this must have been ten times harder on the other man than he thought.

“It’s not your fault.”

“I’m... going to need some time.”

“I’ll give you all the time you need,” Brock says sincerely. He hesitantly reaches out for the other man’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

James carefully watches him, eyes roaming over the features of the other man’s face, trying to remember… something. Did he love this man?

“Don’t worry,” Brock says softly. “I’ll make you fall in love with me again.”

James blinks and blushes, and Brock just thinks it’s the cutest thing ever. He leans over and softly gives him a kiss on the corner of his mouth. He’s confident James will remember him, and James will love him again.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James and Brock explore their relationship. Steve just wants his friend back.

The first few days were a bit awkward. Brock slept on the couch and left the bed for James. He insisted. In James’ mind they were barely more than friends and he doesn’t want to push the boundaries of what the other man is comfortable with. But everyday, he would wake up early, make breakfast for the both of them and bring it into the bedroom so the two of them could enjoy it in bed, much like they did for years before the accident.

They spent a lot of time together. Brock cooked all of James’ favorite dishes, which thankfully, the accident didn’t seem to have affected his taste buds. They watched a few movies from the past few years that he knew James loved. The younger man cried at the end of Toy Story 3, just like he did the first time he saw it. Brock smiled, and only made fun of him a little bit.

It was nice, almost like they were reliving moments from their relationship. Except they never really touched. There were inches of space between them on the couch, whereas before James would have made himself comfortable with his head on Brock’s chest and the other man’s arms wrapped loosely around him.

James also spent significant amounts of time with Steve Rogers. Mostly lunches and dinners. But Brock would always get the now familiar stab of jealousy whenever James told him he was going to see Steve. He had always been suspicious that James’ feelings for the other man were more than just platonic friendship. And it’s quite clear that he’s more comfortable around Rogers than he is around him. He would bite his lip to force himself not to shout that they haven’t spoken in years, that this man should mean nothing to him. But he holds his breath. He doesn’t want to fight with James. He’s doing all he can to help him get through his recovery. And he has every confidence that James will get his memories back soon, and everything will go back to the way it had been before. The doctor said at his last check up that he's very optimistic about his progress, considering the relatively short amount of time it’s been since the accident.

So slowly, James warms up to him. He has a smile for him every morning, and even reaches out to hold his hand while they watched movies on the couch together.

“Tell me stories about us,” he asks multiple times.

And Brock complies, as best he can without spilling any HYDRA details. He doesn’t like lying to the other man, but still, the lies came easily. He smooths out the rough edges of their first meeting, tells him stories of their many travels, and says they had worked for a good employer for several years. He also tells him that their employer had let them go due to too many days missed, but gave them a nice severance package to hold them off for a while. The other man shows no memory of their time with HYDRA.

Everyday he hopes will be the day James wakes up and remembers their life together. But it hasn’t happened yet. And he begins to fear the doctors are right. It may take years, or it may never happen at all.

But James is getting stronger, and that really should be what matters. He comes home one day and tells him Steve is having a BBQ at his place that weekend, and they’re both invited. It’s supposed to be a celebratory event for James because he's now well enough to stay on his feet for longer periods of time. A few of Steve’s close work friends will be there. Meaning SHIELD.

Brock supposes he should be looking forward to it. This is his chance to get in with the enemy. Pierce has been asking for updates on a daily basis. This will make the other man happy. He always sounds impatient during their phone conversations. He needs to push the process along, and today is the perfect opportunity for it.

“Have you seen my pain meds?” James’ asks from the bathroom.

Brock is looking at the bottle in his hand. “Yeah, I’ve got them right here.” He gives them a small shake, looking into the bottle at the little pink pills. Oxycodone. 10 mg tablets prescribed to James Barnes for round the clock pain relief. He frowns when he counts the number of pills left in the bottle.

He quickly recaps the bottle when he hears James approaching.

“You got them?”

Brock gives the bottle a shake in response and puts it in the front pocket of his jacket.

“Thank you,” James says, giving him a smile.

“How is the pain?”

James shrugs. “It’s manageable.”

“Be careful,” he says softly, and reaches out to take hold of the other man’s hand. “You always hear about people getting addicted to their pain killers post surgery.”

“Don’t worry, I’m following the recommended dose.” It’s mostly the truth. And he feels warmed by the other man’s concern for him.

“James?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think we could keep us… just between us today?”

James blinks. “I haven’t told Steve yet. I haven’t told anyone. It’s still… hard for me to grasp. I think I will tell him eventually. It’s weird, you know… keeping something from Steve. I’m trying to get out of that mindset, like I know it’s been six years, but sometimes I forget.”

Brock nods. He reaches up a hand to stroke the other man’s face. James had gotten used to their soft touches. He was receptive even if they never took things further than that.

“I just… I’ve never had to share you before.”

James gazes into the other man’s eyes. He sees nothing but love and care and concern for him. Everything he wants—used to want—from Steve. But that’s a thing of the past now. He has to remember that. He feels a flash of something—a distant memory of… love or desire maybe? A pounding pain makes itself known and throbs behind his eyes and he looks away. He wants to take another pill but it’s barely been two hours since the last one.

“You okay?” Brock asks, suddenly concerned.

James nods. “Headache,” he murmurs.

Brock pulls him closer, wrapping his arms around him, and allowing James to rest his head on his shoulder. James closes his eyes and lets out a soft sound of content when Brock slowly runs his fingers through his short hair, massaging his scalp.

“Better?”

James nods. “Could you do this for me all day, everyday?”

“Well… I don’t have a job right now. I actually could.”

James laughs softly and lifts his head, pulling away just enough to look at the other man. He slowly moves closer and presses his lips gently to the other man’s. Their eyes flutter closed and Brock moans softly. They haven’t kissed in the two weeks since James had left the hospital. It had been far too long since he had held the other man like this. He wraps his arms tighter around him, never wanting to let go, until James slowly pulls away.

Brock watches him silently for a reaction. His heart is pounding and he has the taste of James on his lips.

“What was that for?” He eventually asks.

James pauses before he answers. The kiss felt so familiar to him, like he wants to pull him closer and mold their bodies together. He wants to know what they had, what they were.

He shakes his head to clear those thoughts.

“You’ve been really good to me,” he finally says. “And patient, so patient. Maybe more than I think I deserve. So… this is me telling you not to give up on me.”

Brock smiles, “I’ll never give up on you.”

James returns the smile, and starts to think how easy it is to love this man.

“Come on, we don’t want to be late for this thing.”

They’re mostly silent during the drive to Steve’s place. James had only been to Steve’s place twice before. Steve had insisted he come over so he could cook dinner for him. It was a nice condo just outside the city. Two bedrooms, he used the smaller one as a guest room. Steve had clearly done well for himself since James had left his life.

James glances over at Brock who is focused on the road. Maybe he had done well for himself too.

The front door is unlocked, and when they step inside the smell of food immediately hits them.

“Hey!” Steve greets them with a large smile. “I’m glad you guys could make it!”

His arms are currently full of bottles of ketchup, mustard, and various salad dressings.

“Do you need help?” James asks, giving him an amused expression.

“No! Nonsense! Everyone’s out back! Come on!”

They follow their eager host outside. James is immediately greeted by Phil Coulson’s smiling face.

“Hey asshole, thanks for all those hospital visits!”

“Sorry James, I was going to visit, I swear! But work’s kept me busy. Fury’s got me on three different projects at once. I’ve barely had a day off in weeks. You’re looking great though!” He says sincerely, looking him up and down.

James shrugs. “Well, I’ve had a lot of bed rest. This is Brock, by the way.” He turns to side so the two men can shake hands. “Brock, this is Phil. We used to work together.”

He looks around at the others. “The smirking redhead over there is Natasha.”

“It’s good to see you again, James.” She says with a smile.

The other two people he doesn’t recognize.

“I’m Sam. It’s good to meet you two,” says the man who’s trying to talk around a mouthful of hotdog.

“Sam? Steve’s told me a lot about you.”

“Only good things I hope,” he says, turning to Steve who’s busy flipping over burgers and hotdogs on the grill.

“I’m Maria Hill,” says the tall, dark haired woman next to Natasha. “I work in Phil’s department.

“Guys, grab a plate!” Steve motions towards the table set up by the side. “Get some food, there’s plenty to eat. There’s beer in the cooler. Help yourselves.”

“I’m starving,” James murmurs, eyeing one of the burgers.

Brock grabs himself a beer as he waits patiently for food. He sits down across from James at the table they’ve set up outside. He watches James puts a healthy squirt of ketchup on his burger before biting into it. Burger grease dribbles down his chin and Brock hands him a napkin with a smile.

The other man mumbles his thanks around a mouthful of burger.

“So Bucky, how have you been these past few days?” Steve asks after he’s sat down next to him. Brock barely contains his flinch at the nickname. It’s a constant reminder that James had a life before he met him, and that life is Steve Rogers.

“Good,” he replies. “Nearly 100%.”

“He’s got a real healthy appetite.” Brock chimes in. “He eats food quicker than I can buy it.” And it’s true, James has gained back most of the weight that he had lost, and he’s looking much healthier than he did just a few weeks ago.

“Brock’s been fantastic,” James says. “He waits on me hand and foot. Don’t know what I’d do without him.”

“I’m glad you’re doing better, Buck.”

Brock’s eyes flicker between the two. It’s not that he doesn’t trust James, he just can’t help but be protective of him. And he’s almost positive that it's love he sees in Rogers’ eyes.

“James, have you considered coming back to SHIELD?” Natasha asks.

James looks up at her in surprise. “I haven’t put much thought into it, honestly.”

“I only ask because you are currently unemployed, right?”

“Bucky, that’s a great idea!” Steve adds.

James looks at him, unconvinced. “I’m not sure, I’m not really in any physical condition right now…”

“Well, maybe not the STRIKE team, not right away. There’s other stuff though, maybe in Coulson’s department?”

They turn to look at the man in question.

“Uh… yeah!” He stutters. “We’ve always got desk work available!”

“Desk work?” James asks wryly, turning to Steve. “Jesus, I’m turning into you. Well I suppose it can’t hurt. I could definitely use the money.”

“Actually, I was wondering if you’ve got a position open on the STRIKE team for myself.” Brock says, finally speaking up.

“Really?” James asks him in surprise. “You’ve never said anything…”

“There was never a good time to bring it up. But I’ve got some experience in tactical operations. I’ve got a good resume that I’d love to hand to you.” He says to Steve.

Steve nods. “Yeah, we’re always looking for good men. Why don’t you stop by headquarters some time next week? Drop off your resume and fill out an application. Both of you?”

Brock nods and smiles. It’s perfect. Plenty of time for his background check to undergo some final tweaking. “Thanks a lot, Steve. I really appreciate it.”

“No problem. I’ll even put in a good word to Fury for you. He’s the director of SHIELD.”

“How is Fury doing?” James asks. “Still terrifying?”

“Same as he’s always been.”

“I swear, he never liked me much.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Fury doesn’t like anyone.”

They laugh and smile like the old friends that they are. Brock can’t decide if he wants to punch Rogers in the face or thank him for putting a smile on James.

After a while the conversation turns to important events that James may have missed in the past five years.

“Did you watch the last Harry Potter movie?”

“I can’t believe you’re asking him about movies,” Natasha says to Sam, “when you could be mentioning the world’s first artificial organ transplant using stem cells, which happened in 2011.”

“Wow,” James says softly.

“What about the global pandemic of swine flu in 2009?” Asks Maria.

“The death of Michael Jackson!” Sam says, not to be defeated.

James turns away as the others argue over the most important world events that occurred over the past few years. His headache is back and it’s starting to make him nauseated. He’s suddenly wishing he didn’t eat so much.

“You okay?” Brock asks him, looking concerned.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he replies, forcing a small smile on his face.

Brock nods but he looks unconvinced. “I’ll be right back.”

He heads inside for the bathroom. But it appears to be occupied so he heads towards the kitchen instead to wash his hands. As he’s drying them off he happens to glance out the window. There’s a car parked on the other side of the street with a familiar face watching the house.

“Son of a bitch,” he curses softly.

He makes sure everyone else is still outside before exiting through the front door, making a beeline for the car.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Rollins doesn’t look surprised to see him. He gazes up at him defiantly behind sunglasses. “Pierce asked me to keep an eye on you two.”

He huffs out a breath. “He doesn’t trust me?”

“He just wants to make sure you remember the mission. Infiltrate SHIELD. You getting cozy with them?” He asks, nodding towards the house.

“I know the mission,” Brock says in a hard voice. “Get out of here, I don’t need a damn babysitter.”

“Pierce’s orders,” Rollins says with a shrug.

“And what happens if one of them catches you out here? You’re not exactly being inconspicuous, and those are some of their best agents in there. What happens if Barnes sees you and remembers?”

“I thought that’s what we wanted?”

Brock fights the urge to reach into the window and strangle the other man. “It is! But not like this!” It’s no secret that James never liked Rollins. The guy has always been an ass.

“Leave. Now. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m your commanding officer.”

Rollins looks like he wants to argue, before he puts the keys in the ignition and starts the car, giving Brock one last look before driving off.

 

*

 

James winces as his migraine slowly gets worse. He’s rubbing at his temples as the throbbing in his skull pulsates and he fights the urge not to vomit. He takes a few short breaths, looking around for Brock who disappeared a few moments ago.

“Bucky, you okay?” Steve asks, concerned plastered all over his face.

“Where’s Brock? He has my pain meds.” He forces out.

Steve immediately sits up straighter, because it is frighteningly obvious that Bucky is in pain. He looks around for the other man but doesn’t see him anywhere. “Maybe he’s inside. I’ll go look for him.”

“I’ll go with you,” James says, wincing as he gets to his feet. “The noise out here is making it worse.”

Well, suddenly Steve feels like shit because maybe Bucky isn’t doing as well as he thought, and being around lots of people might not be the best idea at the moment.

“Hey guys, shut up for a second.” He says, just loud enough to get their attention.

The chatter immediately stops when they realize something is amiss. They silently follow as Steve helps James inside onto the couch. The latter has both palms over his eyes, clearly in pain.

“Is Brock in the bathroom?” Steve asks.

Natasha walks over a few steps. “No, it’s empty.”

“Where the hell is he—”

Just as the front door opens and Brock walks in. He looks around in surprise. His eyes immediately fall to James and he rushes over.

“Hey, what happened?” He asks, dropping to his knees in front of the other man.

“Migraine,” James murmurs. “Do you have my pills?”

“Yeah. Yeah, they’re right here.” He reaches for the bottle inside his jacket pocket. He opens it and shakes out one small, pink pill into the other man’s hand, who immediately swallows it, hoping for the narcotic to kick in quickly.

“Where were you?” Natasha asks casually.

“I left my phone in my car. Just ran out to grab it.” Brock answers coolly. “Sorry,” he says in a softer voice to James.

James shakes his head. “I’m fine. I think I just need to lay down for a while.”

“I have an extra bed,” Steve brings up.

Brock shakes his head. “I think I better get him home.”

James doesn’t protest when Brock helps him up. “Sorry to cut the day the short,” he says to Steve.

“Don’t worry about it, Buck. Go home, get some rest. Maybe we’ll grab lunch when you stop by the Triskelion next week.”

James nods. “Definitely, I’ll call you.”

Steve watches with a strained smile as Brock says polite goodbyes and ushers James out the front door.

There’s quiet for a moment as the others give Steve sympathetic looks.

“I hope he feels better,” Maria says.

“Yeah,” Steve nods trying to convince himself, “I’m sure he will.”

“Well, who’s up for more food?” Sam asks trying to turn the mood around. Phil nods, and he and Maria follow Sam back outside, allowing Natasha to hang back with Steve for a moment.

“He’ll be okay, Steve. It hasn’t even been two months since his accident.”

“I know. I just… I really want to be there for him, and it’s like I hardly ever see him.”

“He’ll come to you when he needs you.”

He really hopes that’s true. “I’m just trying to make up for the last five years,” he says softly. He’s a little hurt that it’s Brock that Bucky turns to when he needs help and not him. Though he can’t really blame him for that. When they were younger, he could always rely on Bucky to be there for him when he needed him. And now, he only hopes that he can return the favor.

“Come on,” he says to Natasha. “Let’s enjoy the rest of the day.”

 

***

 

“How are you feeling?” Brock asks, when he enters the bedroom a few hours later. James is awake and turns his head when he hears the door open.

“A lot better actually.” The migraine is gone and he’s mostly feeling groggy from sleep.

“Good. I’m glad. I was worried about you.” He moves closer and sits on the bed next to him. James scoots over to make more room for him. “I feel like your migraines are becoming more frequent.”

James shrugs. “The doctors said that might happen.” He’s looking up at the other man from where his head is resting on the pillow. Brock’s looking down at him with concern written on his face. They’re close. Close enough that James can tell the other man just took a shower because he can smell the fresh body wash coming from him. There’s something very familiar about this. The two of them laying on the bed together. He wants to know more about what they were together.

“I want you to fuck me.”

Brock's eyes widen and he just stares at him and blinks. He thinks he must have misheard. “W-what?”

“I said I want you to fuck me,” James says, completely serious.

Brock is at a loss for words. This is not what he was expecting, not in a million years.

“You say we were together for four years.” James sits up in the bed so that they’re at the same eye level. “I don’t remember any of it. I know the sex must have been good because… I wouldn’t have stayed otherwise,” he says truthfully.

Brock gives a small nod. He’s not wrong there.

“If there’s anything that’s going to help me remember, this is probably it.” He bites his lip and watches the other man. He can't believe he’s trying to convince his own boyfriend to fuck him. God, how did he get here?

“I really want to remember… And... I’m also really horny.”

Brock lets out a soft laugh at that.

“Come on, it’s been a month and a half,” he says pulling the other man closer. “You must have missed my ass.”

“Hmm, you’re not wrong,” Brock murmurs softly. He closes the space between them, pressing their lips together and gently pushing the other man back against the sheets.

James moans and thrusts his hips up while simultaneously pulling down on Brock’s hips. He wants more contact. He needs it after so long. He needs to know what he's forgotten.

“Slow down, baby.” Brock says, teasing him. “It’s our first time, well technically, second first time. I want to make this good for you.” He kiss him again, and places gentle kisses all the way to his neck, where he nibbles at the sensitive skin, just the way he knows the other man likes. And as predicted, James keens under him, his breath becoming hitched and shallow.

He pulls back slightly so they can both remove their clothes. James looks down at him. In his mind, this is first time he’s seen him naked. This is their first time.

“You nervous?”

James shakes his head. “No... this feels right.”

Brock smiles and pressed him back onto the sheets. “I’m going to make you cum so hard…” he whispers before kissing him again, and then he lays soft kisses down his front, paying special attention to the healed scar going down his abdomen, and then going down further.

James forces himself to relax when he feels a hot breath over his genitals. He thinks Brock is going to take him in his mouth, he's ready for it. But he’s taken by surprise when the other man pushes his legs up by the thighs so he can reach lower. And he gasps when he feels a soft, warm, wet tongue probe at his puckered hole. His cock twitches as that tongue smoothly slides past his tight ring of muscle. “Oh fuck,” he whispers, his hands grip the sheets beneath him as Brock continues to tongue fuck his asshole, rhythmically pressing in and out. “Oh fuck, that’s good…”

Brock’s hand reaches up to massage his balls, squeezing gently enough to be pleasurable. James unclenches one of his fists, and moves it towards his cock, which is achingly hard. Brock smacks his hand away and lets out a soft laugh against his ass when James whines pitifully.

Brock’s tongue is still wetly probing at his entrance. “Fuck, you’re going to make me cum,” James says breathlessly.

Brock slides his tongue back out, and laps at the tight ring of muscle, making it slick with his saliva. “That’s the point,” he murmurs. He slowly, teasingly runs his tongue over his perineum, which causes James to gasp and jump so hard he almost smacks Brock in the head with his knee.

“Fuck… fuck, just f-fuck me…”

“Patience, baby. I’ve missed your filthy mouth.”

“Between the two of us— oh god!” He’s cut off by a moan when Brock’s tongue runs over his balls, the right one and then the left, and he gently sucks one of them into his mouth. “I’m not… the one doing filthy things with my mouth…”

Brock’s tongue is slowly trailing higher and he runs it up his cock, from the base, all the way to the tip. He swirls his tongue around the head of his cock, sucking the engorged head into his mouth. He expertly runs his tongue over the sensitive underside of his cock, loving the hiss that escapes James’ lips when he does so.

“Oh f-fuck, you give good head.”

Brock chuckles around his dick, sending vibrations throughout his groin. He feels his balls tighten against his body, signaling his orgasm is close.

“I can’t believe we didn’t do this sooner…” James’ hands find their way to Brock’s hair. And he tugs on it hard, just short of being painful.

Something cold is pressing against his ass. Brock’s finger, slickened with a generous glob of lube—where did he get lube from?—is pressing inside him. He slowly slides it in and out, matching the rhythm of his mouth gliding over his cock.

James moans from the overstimulation. His hands grip the other man’s hair harder. “I’m close… god I’m so close,” he pants. “Fuck…”

Brock slides a second finger into his tight hole. The burn fades quickly as he stretches around him, made easier by the lube. Brock turns his eyes upwards towards the other man, watches his heaving chest, and how he bites his lip to stop a groan from escaping. He loves seeing him come undone.

James is pressing himself down further on his fingers, fucking himself to the brink of orgasm. Brock massages his sac with his free hand, curls his fingers against his prostate, and swirls his tongue against the cock in the tight heat of his mouth. James gasps as his body spasms, back arching off the mattress, and loud moans escape his mouth. He spills hot globs of semen down the back of Brock’s throat, who swallows every last drop with ease.

He whimpers softly when Brock slowly releases his softening cock from his mouth and removes his slick fingers from his ass.

“How was that?” Brock asks huskily. His voice is hoarse from the throat fucking he just took.

James just moans, unable to form words, eyes closed. He’s still trying to get his breath back.

“That was… wow… probably the best fucking orgasm of my life.”

“I don’t know about that.” He murmurs, and gently kisses James’ lips. “I remember quite a few times that left us beat…” He licks his full bottom lip before gently sucking it into his mouth. “Covered in cum, unable to move…” His hand reaches down and gently massages James’ heavy sac. A soft moan escapes his lips, which Brock swallows in a heated kiss.

“Mmm, you know exactly what I like…”

He chuckles, “I know you like being fucked by my cock until you cum…” His hand travels further down to finger his sensitive hole. “Again… and again…”

James’ eyes open in surprise. He had completely forgotten that the other man hadn’t gotten off yet.

“Oh fuck yes.”

Brock smiles and reaches for the bottle of lube again. He coats his cock and rubs the remainder on his fingers over James’ slick entrance. He lines himself up and slowly presses into the other man, moaning from the tight heat that he hadn’t felt in far too long. Oh god, it's so good.

James groans as he’s slowly filled. Brock gives him a chance to adjust to his length, before slowly thrusting. He pulls the other man's leg up a bit to get a better angle, and it has them both moaning and panting in pleasure. James’ cock is slowly hardening again between their bodies, and he grabs the other man by the back of the neck, and pulls him down to meet in a heated kiss. They’re sucking and biting, and moaning into each other’s mouths as the sound of wet bodies slapping fills the room.

Brock’s cock is rubbing against his oversensitive prostate, and he can't believe this man is going to make him cum again so soon.

“Harder…” he breathes. “Harder, fuck me harder…”

Brock complies, moaning into his mouth as his own orgasm draws near. “God, I’ve missed this so much…” He reaches between them and takes James’ throbbing cock in his hands, stroking it while running his thumb over the sensitive head. His mind is swimming. All he can think about is how good James feels, and how good he tastes, and how much he fucking loves this man moaning and panting underneath him.

“Oh fuck,” James curses as he spills between their bodies, his second orgasm completely takes his breath away and sends tremors throughout his body, making him feel weak and achy. And as his body spasms around Brock, he’s cumming too, deep inside the warmth of James’ body.

Slowly, Brock collapses onto the other man for a moment, before rolling over onto the sheets.

“That was… oh that was good,” James whispers.

Brock turns to look at him incredulously. “Good? That’s it? Good? Do I need to make you cum a third time?”

James laughs. “I don’t think I could handle a third time. That was amazing. Oh god… we are doing that again.”

Brock smiles at him, and casually throws an arm around his torso. He’s finally getting his boyfriend back. He thinks no amount of Steve Rogers interaction could make him feel bad at a time like this.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James starts to remember, and Brock kind of freaks out.

_The gun is warm and heavy in his hand._

_His arm tenses, and lifts up. His eyes narrow over the barrel of the gun, at the target._

_The target is there, in front of him. He’s scared, cowering, and afraid._

_“Please…” he whispers._

_The trigger is pulled, the bullet shoots into the center of his forehead. The sound of the shot reverberates through the room._

_The man falls over onto his side._

 

James wakes with a gasp, shooting up from the bed. He’s drenched in a cold sweat, and his heart continues to pound in his chest.

Dead man. Gun. Shot.

“James?” Brock’s groggy voice brings him out of it. “You okay?”

James blinks several times, trying to clear his head, trying to catch his breath.

“James?” Brock is more awake now. He sits up and tries to see the other man in the darkness of their room. He places his hand on the other man’s arm in concern. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Slowly, James shakes his head. “Nothing,” he whispers. “Just a bad dream, that’s all.” He takes a few shaky breaths, “I’m fine,” he adds, before lying back down.

“Mmkay,” Brock murmurs, before wrapping an arm around the other man. Within minutes, he’s fallen back asleep.

James closes his eyes and tries to forget the sight of the man lying dead in a pool of his own blood, and the feel of the recoil of the gun in his hands.

Was that a dream? It was awfully realistic for a dream. Or maybe it was something else.

*

“What do you think Phil wants to talk to us about?”

“I don’t know, but he said it was important,” Steve replies, as they both walk towards the other man’s office.

“Come on, Steve, everything’s important to Coulson.”

Coulson’s hanging up the phone right as Steve and Natasha walk through his door.

“Hey guys, perfect timing.”

“Hey what’s up, Phil.”

“Could you close the door behind you?”

“What’s this about? You sounded serious over the phone.” Steve asks as he and Natasha sit down in front of his desk.

“Nothing too serious. Um… more of a concern really,” he pauses briefly. “It’s about James’ accident.”

“Well, Bucky’s—James has already been cleared for work. He says he’s feeling much better, nearly 100% now.”

“No, Steve,” Coulson shakes his head. “It’s not about that. I recently had a bunch of files come through my department. Cases like hit and runs, burglary… arson. Most of these cases just end up sitting on the back burner. But there was one that caught my eye.” He sets down a case file in front of the others. “Callahan’s Restaurant and Lounge.”

Natasha pulls it closer and briefly flips through the pages. “Gas explosion, ruled as an accident, burnt the place down.”

“That was the accident that put James in the hospital.”

Steve’s jaw drops a little. He’s confused. “Why—why are you showing us this?”

“Because I’m not so sure it was an accident. I read through the file. Mostly out of curiosity than anything else. There are a few things that don’t add up. The restaurant underwent their yearly inspection less than a month ago. Anything wrong with the gas system should have been caught. Also, during the sweep of the place the regulator that controls gas flow in the kitchen appears to be missing. It was assumed to have been blown off, or blown up during the blast, but I was a little suspicious. So... I looked into it a bit more.”

Steve briefly meets Natasha’s eyes. He has a sinking feeling in the pit of stomach that tells him he’s not going to like this.

“Hospital records show that James was brought in to the hospital at 9:46 AM, not by an ambulance. His friend brought him in. According to several witness, the explosion at Callahan’s Restaurant didn’t happen until 10:09 AM.”

He stops to let the other two digest the information.

“You’re saying… you’re saying James wasn’t hurt in the restaurant explosion and—”

“The restaurant was a set up.” Natasha finishes for him. “A cover up.”

“I don’t want to cause any panic.” Coulson stresses. “This is all just speculation until an official investigation is opened. _If_ we want to open one. I’m just saying there’s a chance that… we have been lied to.”

“No. No, Bucky wouldn’t lie to me.” Steve insists.

“James doesn’t remember, Steve. What if _he_ doesn’t even know?” Natasha tells him.

“This… this doesn’t make any sense.” Steve says as he flips through the papers in front of him. “Someone must have gotten the times wrong.”

“That is a possibility.”

“Rumlow,” Natasha says softly. Steve glances up at her, then at Coulson, who nods indicating he was thinking the same thing. “He was the one who brought James to the hospital, right? If anyone would know what happened, it would be him.”

“You think he lied to us. Why?”

“We barely know this guy. Who knows?”

“Well, Maria personally looked over his application.” Coulson says. “We ran every background check that’s standard for all SHIELD employees. His record is spotless. He was in the marines, spent several years overseas. Came back, worked a few odd jobs over the next decade, mostly freelance stuff. There was nothing out of the ordinary.”

“He flew through the STRIKE tactical operations test. It was unbelievable. He’s supposed to start work here next week.” Steve roughly runs a hand through his hair. It’s a habit of his when he’s stressed.

“Steve, we don’t know anything yet,” Natasha says. “Let’s not jump to any conclusions.”

“What do you mean? We know he lied to us!” He gestures to the papers. “If he had anything to do with that arson—he’s dangerous! He’s… fuck! Bucky’s with him! Bucky’s been—”

“Steve, calm now. We are not going to make a scene about this until we have facts. Not just maybes and speculation.”

Steve takes a deep breath, knowing she’s right. But just the idea that Bucky might be in danger is enough to make him go off the deep end. “How are you not freaking out about this?”

“I’m pretty good at keeping my emotions in check.” Natasha says coolly. “It’s a part of the job, remember?”

He nods. “Right. You’re right. I’m sorry.” It’s just that ever since Bucky’s come back into his life, he can’t stop thinking about him. He can’t stop wanting to spend every moment with him, catching up on all the time they missed out on, desperately trying to get back what they lost.

“Natasha, you’re pretty good at reading people.” Coulson says. “What was your impression of Rumlow?”

She pauses, and chooses her words carefully. “I think he really cares about Barnes. Maybe even more than a friend would.” Her eyes flicker over to meet Steve’s. “However, I did get the sense that he’s hiding something. I’m not sure what.”

Steve sighs, dropping his head into his hands.

“Aren’t you seeing James today?”

“Oh yeah,” Steve nearly forgot in his panic. “We’re having lunch together in a little bit.”

“What are you going to tell him?”

Steve shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

“Steve. If I were you, I’d keep James out of it, for now. We don’t know enough about the situation. We don’t know if any of this is real. And if it is, if Rumlow is hiding something, telling James could put him in danger.”

Bucky and danger should not be in the same sentence together. He can’t imagine something bad happening to Bucky. Not so soon after almost losing him. He won’t let that happen. He won't.

*

“Hey Steve, sorry I’m late.” Bucky says as he drops into the seat across from him. They had planned to meet at noon, but he’s only a few minutes late. He had quickly spotted Steve who had chosen a table outside the café, not surprising, seeing as how it’s such a nice day out.

“No worries. I haven’t been here long.” Steve’s eyes sweep over the man, checking for anything out of the ordinary. He looks better every time he sees him, more and more like the old Bucky from so many years ago. His hair has finally grown in enough that he can style it. And he’s gained back all of the weight he lost in the hospital. Honestly, he looks really good.

Bucky looks up from the menu when he feels him staring. “What is it, punk?”

“Nothing,” Steve says with a smile. “You’re looking good, that’s all.”

Bucky scoffs. “When do I not look good,” he says jokingly. He glances back at the menu. “I've never been here before, what’s good?”

“Their flatbreads are excellent. I got one last time I was here.”

“Sounds good to me,” Bucky closes his menu. “Can you order a grilled chicken flatbread for me when the waiter comes around? I’m going to run to the restroom real quick.”

Steve nods and Bucky gives him a thankful smile before getting out of his seat. He heads inside to the restrooms towards the back of the restaurant. He quietly locks the door behind him, and glances up at his reflection in the mirror. He closes his eyes and rubs his temples with his fingers. It doesn’t help his migraine much. They’ve been getting more and more frequent, a blinding pain that throbs behind his eyes. Like a hangover that refuses to go away, just ten times worse. He takes his bottle of pain meds out from his jacket pocket, and quickly throws back one of the little pink pills. He glances down into the bottle. He’ll have to get a refill soon. Despite Brock’s concerns, he’s gone through the bottle quicker than he should have.

Steve tells him he’s ordered for them when he gets back to the table.

“How are things going with Brock?” He asks, both curious and concerned,

“Good! They’re really good, actually!” James laughs. He and Brock had gotten close. Really close. The rekindling of their physical relationship blossomed into something wonderful. “Much better than I was expecting, when I went home a month ago, to be honest.”

“Do you remember anything?” Steve asks softly.

Bucky chews on his bottom lip as he considers it. “I’m not sure. Sometimes I think I’m getting flashes of… memories. But they’re fuzzy, like I’m looking at them with glasses on or something. I can’t make out anything. And sometime I think I’m just losing my mind.” He says with a laugh.

“But Brock’s been good to you?” Steve hopes his voice sounds casual and not accusatory.

Bucky kind of gives him a weird look. “Why are you so concerned about Brock all of a sudden?” He’s considered telling Steve the truth about them. He’s thought about it a lot. Now he’s afraid Steve already knows, that somehow he’s figured it out. That he was in a relationship with another man for several years, and is currently… still with him? He’s not sure how Steve will take it.

“I’m just—I have a bad feeling about him. I’m not sure he's who he says he is.”

Bucky just stares at him. He wasn’t expecting this. “What are you talking about, Steve?”

“I—I have a bad feeling about him. I think he might be lying to you.”

He scoffs. “You’re going to have to do better than that.”

“I think he’s hiding something.”

“He’s not.” Bucky insists. “Stop being paranoid, Steve.”

“Just listen though, how well do you know this guy? You wake up, with no memory of him whatsoever, and you just go home with him, believing every word he says. He could be lying to you about who he is, about everything!”

“Stop it,” Bucky says through gritted teeth. His headache’s back and Steve’s words aren’t helping one bit. He’s not blind. There’s been a small thread of suspicion that Brock hasn’t been completely truthful with him, and Steve’s words are yanking the hell out of that thread. “Just stop it. You’re freaking me out.”

“I’m sorry, Buck.” Steve says, softer now. “I just want you to be careful.”

“Contrary to popular belief, I can take care of myself.” He says dryly.

They both drop the subject, and turn to happier topics, like Bucky starting to work at SHIELD again. Bucky throws a smile on his face and watches Steve as he talks animatedly about how nice it’ll be to see him in the hallways of the Triskelion again. They won’t be in the same department, but they’ll still see plenty of each other.

In the back of his mind, Bucky thinks about what Steve said about Brock. He doesn’t want to believe it, but his own suspicions have been rising. Brock’s been so good to him. He doesn’t want to believe the man may have been lying to him this entire time, keeping things from him.

It’s not entirely out of the realm of possibility. Brock will disappear for hours at a time, claiming to be running errands. There are only so many times a person can go to the grocery store but come back empty handed before getting suspicious. A couple of times he’s gotten phone calls that he’ll step into another room to take. Through the walls, he’ll hear Brock’s stressed, angry voice, unable to make out the words.

He doesn’t want to believe his fears are true. But as his mind heals, words, memories, and thoughts slowly form together, like he’s watching pieces of another life being put into place.

His life?

 

_Humanity cannot be trusted with its own freedom. The world must learn to sacrifice its freedom to gain its security. It will learn to accept HYDRA’s new world order._

_Immortal HYDRA! Cut off one head, and two more shall take its place!_

_Hail HYDRA!_

 

James clenches his hands into fists. Strange words ring out in the fog of his mind as he opens the door to his apartment. He looks around. Brock’s not home.

Good.

He goes into their bedroom. He starts digging in their closet. He looks behind clothes, wincing at the sound of screeching hangers, around the top shelf, behind stacks of clothes and unworn shoes. There’s nothing.

He’s searching. He’s not sure what he’s looking for, but he’s searching for something.

He tears the room apart.

He lifts up the mattress, opens every drawer of both dressers, rooting around socks, underwear, and clothes, feeling around for something out of the ordinary. His hands finally close around cold, heavy metal, and he pulls out a handgun from the second drawer of Brock’s dresser.

He lets out a breath as he turns the gun over in his hands. It’s heavy and loaded, and it feels comfortable in his hands. He remembers this.

He places it down on their bed and sets his sights on the large desk near the side of their room. The surface is nearly bare. Brock had finally gotten around to clearing it after James moved back in.

He opens drawers haphazardly, and roots around the papers he finds. He pulls out a random bunch and skims them. They’re invoice statements. Multiple large amounts of money transferred into their bank accounts from a source he doesn’t recognize. It’s a lot of money, more than he’s ever seen working for SHIELD.

Brock never mentioned this money. He said they were well off. They wouldn’t have to worry about work for a short while yet. But there’s no way they got this money working for a fucking construction company.

He keeps looking in the desk, pulling open all the drawers. There’s more papers, folders of information, he pulls out a thick one, and opens it. Inside are various IDs and passports. He grabs the first one he sees, and finds his own face staring up at him.

_Jackson M. Murray._

_D.O.B.  July 14, 1983_

Fake IDs, fake passports, he sees his face and Brock’s face, and James throws it all on the ground in frustration. It slowly dawns on him. There's no denying it now. Everything that he thought was his life is nothing more than a lie, a façade. He doesn’t even know what’s real anymore.

He glances heatedly at the floor where the items are strewn about, something gold and shiny had tumbled out of the folder, and it catches his eye. He reaches for it. It’s a pin. A small, gold pin. A golden skull with six tentacles coming from the bottom of it. He recognizes this. And he remembers this.

His hands are shaking now, and he swallows hard, just as he hears the front door open and Brock’s voice calls out to him. “James? You home?”

Shaky breaths rack through him as he thinks of the confrontation, because he doesn’t want it. He was happy with his fake life, his fake, happy life where his wonderful boyfriend loves him, cares for him, and is so good to him.

Brock’s footsteps get closer until they stop just inside their bedroom. “James?” Comes his voice filled with shock, as he takes in the sight of their room. “What the hell happened here?”

He’s sitting on the bed, back to the door, still trying to understand, to comprehend what his mind is telling him is the truth. “You lied to me.” James breathes out.

Brock’s eyes widen, he takes in the mess on the floor, the passports, the open drawers, and the glock sitting on the bed. And he realizes… James knows.

“What are you talking about?” He asks softly, hesitantly. He reaches out, gently, trying to calm the situation.

“Don’t.” James snaps away from him, getting to his feet.

No. No, this can’t be happening. Not when they’ve come so far together. “James,” he whispers. “Please tell me what’s wrong.”

James reaches his arm out, and drops the pin into Brock’s waiting hands. His eyes widen slowly when he realizes what it is.

“You lied to me.”

“James…” He wants to say it’s not true, but it is. And he’s frantically trying to think of a way to fix the situation. To explain, that this was their life together. And they were happy, for the most part. He reaches out for him. He wants to hold him, to remind him, that they were once happy with their lives.

“No!” James jerks back. “Don’t you fucking touch to me.”

“Please…” His heart breaks when he sees James flinch away from him, when he hears the venom in his voice. This was never what he wanted. He never wanted to hurt him. “I was trying to protect you. I swear, James please—”

James scoffs. “Protect me?”

“You had forgotten everything! You’d forgotten me, you’d forgotten HYDRA!”

James shakes his head. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you tell me the truth?”

“Because you were friends with Rogers again. You were... close. You would have freaked out, you would never have accepted it. It was a different time of your life. You had left him behind.”

“No. I can’t…” James shakes his head. “God, who are you? I don’t… I don’t even know who you are…”

“You do know me.” James looks away, but Brock reaches for him, grabs his arms, and shakes him. “You know me, James.”

He shakes his head again. Everything hurts, because he’s looking at a man who feels so real. The emotions feel real, and he wants to believe that it is. But none of it makes any sense. “Why—why would I work for HYDRA? They’re a terrorist organization bent on world domination! I would _never_ —”

“You did it because you love me.”

“What?” He whispers.

“We fell in love, James. We were supposed to go away together. We were supposed to leave, and get away together. Do you remember that?” He asks desperately.

James shakes his head. It’s all a mess. What he’s remembering, and what Brock’s telling him, he can’t tell if it’s a memory, or a dream, or just a figment of his broken mind. “No. I have to go.” It’s too much for him to handle. The stress is eating at him, breaking him down. His head is aching, and he can’t tell what’s real anymore.

Brock doesn’t struggle when James pulls out of his arms. “You said you would never leave me." He says desperately. "You swore it.” Tears come to his eyes when he remembers James’ words.

James shakes his head again. “I have to go,” he whispers.

“You’re going to him, aren’t you? Back to Rogers?” He asks angrily.

“I don’t know where I’m going. I just have to get away—” _f_ _rom you._

“He can’t protect you, James!”

“I don’t need someone to protect me!”

“Listen to me! Just listen to me!” Brock moves forward, grabbing him by the arms again, and pressing him back against the wall so he can’t get away. “HYDRA is not going to let you go. If you tell Steve about what we did together, about who we are… not only will SHIELD be after us, HYDRA won’t stop until we’re both dead.”

James stares at him, eyes wide. In his heart knows Brock is telling the truth. And he can see that the other man is scared. He’s scared too. Not of the danger that he’s potentially putting himself in, but of the fact that he no longer knows who he is anymore. He’s done bad things, and how can he ever face Steve after this?

“Let me go,” he whispers. "Just let me go." After a long moment, Brock finally releases his arms. And James turns to leave.

“Please, James. Don’t walk out that door. Just stay with me, let me look after you.”

He doesn’t answer him. He walks towards the door. He needs to leave. He needs to get away.

“James, you can’t tell him!” Brock frantically shouts after him. “James!” But he leaves anyway.

“Fuck!” He shouts after James runs out, the front door shutting behind him. “Shit shit shit!” He curses and knocks everything off the top of his dresser in a fit of rage.

He’s gone. He’s probably gone to find Steve. Stupid, perfect, fucking Steve Rogers. James will tell him everything, everything that he remembers. HYDRA will hunt them both down, won’t stop until they’re dead. It’s over for them. It’s over.

Rogers will no doubt try to get SHIELD to grant James impunity, convince them that he was brainwashed or something, not in his right mind. Never mind the fact that James has made every decision of his own will and volition. James will go running back into Rogers’ open arms.

“Fuck… What do I do? What do I do? What do I do?” He mumbles to himself. He’s pacing in their living room, pulling at his hair in a panic, trying to think of something, some way to fix this.

He can’t lose James. James is everything to him, his whole life, his whole world. And now he’s gone running to Steve Rogers for help, instead of him.

“Fuck!” He lifts up a vase that had been sitting on a corner table, and throws it against the wall as hard as he can. It shatters on impact and the pieces rain down messily onto their carpet. He stares at the jagged porcelain pieces, and he kind of feels like shoving one of them into his heart. It couldn’t possibly hurt any worse than he feels now.

Then, an idea slowly dawns on him. A last ditch effort to salvage the mission, and get James back, get James to trust him again.

He takes his phone out of his pocket, scrolls through the numbers, and presses dial.

“Trouble in paradise?” Answers Rollin’s voice through the phone.

Brock grits his teeth. “I need your help. Come to my place, now.” He glances out his window briefly, before pulling the curtains shut. “There might be people watching me. Come through the back entrance.”

He hangs up the phone after receiving confirmation from the other man. This will work. It has to. He doesn’t see any other option. He needs James to trust him again.

He pockets his phone before looking around their nice, comfortable apartment. They’ve spent so much time here together. Everything reminds him of James. The couch that they would lay on, fuck on, and cuddle on. He presses his knee against one corner, and moves it back a foot or two, now clearly misaligned with the rest of the furniture. The lamp that they picked out together after the last one stopped working. James liked the color, so they went with this one. He knocks it over with his hand. The head of the lamp pops off after hitting the carpet. He braces his foot against the corner table, kicking it backwards and away. The coffee table he knocks over. Remotes, coasters, and random objects scatter across the room.

He looks around the wrecked mess of their home. He’s not feeling angry. He feels desperate. 

The sound of the front door opening draws his attention. It’s Rollins.

“Whoa, what happened here?” He asks, when he sees Rumlow standing in the mess that was once his living room.

“I made it look like there was a fight here.” He says with steel in his voice.

The man gives him a weird look. “So what do you need me for?”

He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a knife. He takes the blade out of its sheath, twiddles it in his hands for a moment, and drops it onto the ground between them.

“An attempt on my life,” he says in a low voice. “I need you make it look real.”

Rollins’ eyes flicker down to the knife in front of him, then back up to Rumlow. “He left you, didn’t he?” He says with a smirk.

“Shut the hell up.”

Rollins laughs. “He fucking left you. And you think this little stunt is going to make him come crawling back. Why? Cause he loves you?”

Rumlow grabs him by the lapels of his jacket, throws him back against the wall, and takes pleasure in the sound of the man’s head smacking hard against it. “Shut up,” he growls. “You don’t know anything about him.”

“I was there, remember?” Rollins says, as he winces from the pressure Rumlow’s putting on his throat. “On the way to the hospital, when you swore you’d leave HYDRA with him. For him. I ought to report you both to Pierce.”

“Listen to me. I know you never liked Barnes, but this isn’t the time for your petty little rivalry.”

“You’re the one who came asking for my help!” Rollins pushes the other man off of him. “What makes you think I won’t just kill you myself? Tell Pierce I was getting rid of a traitor. He’d thank me.”

Rumlow takes a deep breath, restraining himself from punching Rollins in the face. “The mission comes first. Always. If this works, it’ll get us into SHIELD. And when I’m promoted within HYDRA, I’ll take you up right alongside me. You understand?”

Rollins scowls at him. But slowly, he gives him a nod.

“Okay. Good. Now hit me. Hard. God knows you want to.”

Rollins smirks, he draws his fist back, Rumlow braces himself, and the punch hits him right in the eye. His head snaps back and he sees nothing but white. “Ow, fuck!” He’s holding his eye in pain. “Jesus fuck!”

He drops his hand just in time to take another punch to the jaw. His head snaps to the side. He brings his hands up to feel his lip, and it comes back red. His lip is throbbing from where it got cut on his teeth.

“You alright there?”

He nods. “Keep going.”

He takes a deep breath. Unfortunately, the air is quickly expelled out of his lungs when he takes a punch to the gut. When he’s doubled over, Rollins knees him in the ribs twice, and throws him onto the upended coffee table, hard enough that he knocks his head.

“You know, this is fun.” He says with a smirk. “I feel like we should do this more often.”

“You know if I were fighting back, you’d never stand a chance.” Rumlow wheezes out, and painfully rolls off of the coffee table.

“Lucky for me then,” Rollins sends a kick right into his chest, and then another into his battered ribcage. “Your boy better be worth it.”

Rumlow groans as he rolls over, holding his midsection with his arms. “Fuck you.”

Rollins just laughs as he lets the other man catch his breath.

“Okay, come on. One more.”

Rollins kneels down, and grabs the other man by the jacket, pulling him up off the ground. He pulls his arm back, and punches him as hard as he can. Rumlow’s head hits the corner of the table. His face is a bloody mess, from his nose, and a fresh cut on his temple.

He groans as holds his head, trying to clear his vision. He doesn’t even notice that Rollins walked away until the man comes back, brandishing the sharp blade in his hands.

“You sure about this, boss?”

Rumlow stares up at him, trying to catch his breath. “Don’t. Kill me.”

Rollins smirks and leans down. He wipes the blade on his shirt before poking the sharp end near the bottom of his ribcage. Rumlow closes his eyes, but they fly open when he feels the blade embed itself inside his body.

He gasps, as the agony radiates from his side, overriding the pain from his earlier beating. “Oh fuck… no, leave it in, leave it in… I don’t want to bleed to death.”

“Jesus, you’re a fucking idiot.”

“Get the fuck out of here,” he groans, as he reaches into his pocket for his phone.

“What are you going to do if he doesn’t fucking pick up?”

“Then I’ll call myself an ambulance,” he wheezes. “James is my emergency contact. He’ll find out one way or another, and the plan will still work.”

“Whatever, your funeral.” Rollins grumbles as he stands. “You're welcome.”

Rumlow’s shaking fingers are struggling to work his phone. He hears Rollins leaving his apartment. He finally presses the dial button, and places the phone against his ear. The pain is radiating throughout body. The pain is good. It means he’s still alive. He shifts slightly and nearly cries out from the agony that racks him. 

Oh fuck, please pick up, please pick up.

Finally, a click.

“James?”

“Brock?” James’ voice comes over line, concerned and beautiful. “What’s wrong? You sound weird.”

“James, I’m sorry…” He breathes out. His voice sounds hoarse and weak to his own ears. “I’m so sorry…”

“Brock, what’s wrong?” He hears panic start the tint the edges of his voice.

“Listen… listen to me." He takes a few heavy breaths. "Go to Steve, okay? Tell him to protect you. I can’t…” He groans into the phone as he grips the handle of the blade in his side.

“Brock? What happened? Are you okay?” James' voice is louder now, more frightened.

“I’m sorry I lied to you…” He grips the blade, and slides it out of his body in one fluid motion, throwing it away from him. A scream of pain is barely muffled.

“You’re hurt. You’re hurt. Where are you? Are you at our apartment? Brock?” James’ voice is fearful and anxious. He keeps asking him where he is. Is he okay? He vaguely hears voices in the background, asking what’s happening. Rogers probably.

He grumbles a confirmation that he hopes James understand and presses his hand against his wound. The blood is fresh, warm, and sticky against his fingers. The warm blood seeps out, and he doesn't know what to do. Maybe he shouldn’t have pulled the knife out so soon. His vision is blurring. Too much blood loss. “I love you, James…” He murmurs. And in this moment, he really fucking means it.

“No. No, no, no, Brock! Stay with me! Brock?!” James shouts.

“I love you…” It’s the last thing he says before the phone drops from his hand. He can still hear James’ beautiful, panicked voice. He’s still holding his wound, but the pain is less now. It hurts less. Not a good thing, he thinks. When the pain goes away, it means you’re dying. But he doesn’t think he cares right now.

“I love you, James…”


End file.
